


It's Only a Paper Moon

by frostian



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, R-rated for language and violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23507026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostian/pseuds/frostian
Summary: Dean and Sam head to Washington to tackle a case where a ghost is blamed for multiple deaths. However, once they discover what the entity is, they realize they have no way of stopping the tortured soul from continuing its murderous rampage. Becoming more and more desperate as the body count rises, the Winchesters delve into forgotten family history to discover a murderous tragedy that has yet to see the end.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Gig Harbor, WA**

Joey noticed the slick BMW immediately as it was the only car in the parking lot. He scanned the adjacent building and quickly spotted the lighted corner office on the highest floor. Even though no one told him Joey knew whose office it was: Mr. Victor Holden, the man who fired his dad not seven hours ago. In spite of laying off four people today, the son of a bitch was still working. Joey had to give it to the guy; the spineless asshole had real dedication in making sure his people stayed miserable and frightened.

That was enough for Joey’s anger to take control. He took out a rubber mallet from his jacket pocket and grimly marched to the BMW. He systematically bashed in the back tail lights, taking delight at the sound of the glass tinkering onto the ground even as his conscience screamed at the teenager to stop.

Joey began walking to the front of the car when he spotted a security vehicle enter the parking lot.

Suddenly, his courage and anger vanished: Joey panicked and ran.

Not two minutes later Holden stepped out of the building. With tired and unsure steps, he trudged to his car and got in. His expensive briefcase was tossed into the backseat without a thought, as the CFO of Harbor Investments started up his car. Victor turned on his radio and tuned into NPR as he got on SR16, heading east towards Tacoma.

_Man, I have got to move here_ , Victor thought as he approached the bridge. _I can’t keep going back and forth like this._

But he knew he never would. The situation with Harbor was worrisome, and Victor didn’t want to buy some over-priced house overlooking a golf course while the company he dedicated his entire career to went under.

And there was the bridge. Or bridges. As much as Victor hated the daily grind of rush hour traffic, he had to admit driving on them at night was spectacular.

_So damn beautiful._ He then mentally winced when he remembered the names of the bridges.

The wise leaders of the city had the imagination to name the second bridge the Tacoma Narrows Eastbound Bridge, as opposed to the Tacoma Narrows Westbound Bridge.

_If they are the ones who are burdened to shape the future of our children, we’re all going to hell. Forget terrorists or plagues, plain old stupidity will do just fine._

The NPR was suddenly interrupted by tinny music. Victor frowned as an old tune came on.

_I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places…_

Victor couldn’t help but smile. He remembered his parents dancing to that song every single anniversary until his mother passed away. He didn’t bother to switch to another radio station. The bridges were famous for screwing up reception, and NPR would return as soon as he was on the other side.

He was almost dead center of the bridge when something caught his attention, forcing him to slow down drastically.

Someone dressed in light clothing was on the pedestrian walkway. Since it was past midnight his anxiety skyrocketed. And his personal alarm wasn’t wrong: the stranger, now identifiable as a man, climbed onto the railing.

“Oh shit!” Victor slammed on the brakes and put on the emergency lights, not realizing they were all broken, and climbed out of his car.

“Hey buddy!” he screamed as he patted down his pockets for his cell. “Don’t do it!”

The car’s headlights revealed the jumper's youthful and lean visage.

Victor’s heart plummeted. _Oh my God, he looks like Johnny._

The thought that it might be his son was enough for Victor’s adrenaline to really kick in. He sprinted towards the figure but was too late. The young man paid no attention to him as he looked out towards the Sound. With one small but confident step, he disappeared into the night.

Victor knew better than to look in the water. Instead, he ran back into his car and hunted down his cell. He found it in the briefcase.

“This is Victor Holden. I’m on the Eastbound Bridge. I just saw a kid jump!”

The sixteen-wheeler crested the highest part of the bridge slowly, as it was lugging full capacity. The driver, not seeing any lights, didn’t slow down, so it wasn’t until he was almost on top of the BMW that he noticed it. The truck slammed into the parked car, cannoning it to the cement divider. Since Victor wasn’t strapped in, he was ejected from his seat. He died the moment his head smashed through the front windshield.

_I'll be looking at the moon but I'll be seeing you._

The song ended and NPR came back on, the commentator noting the political activities of the White House earlier in the day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam head to Washington to tackle a case where a ghost is blamed for multiple deaths. However, once they discover what the entity is, they realize they have no way of stopping the tortured soul from continuing its murderous rampage. Becoming more and more desperate as the body count rises, the Winchesters delve into forgotten family history to discover a murderous tragedy that has yet to see the end.

**Thomasville, Idaho**

“This sucks,” Dean grumbled as he swirled the dregs of his coffee in the chipped mug. “How is it we can’t find a decent case? What? All the ghosties went to Bermuda for the summer?”

Sam gave a huff of annoyance. “Look, it’s not my fault that we’re … wait. I found something.”

Dean immediately perked up. When Sam used that tone, things got interesting. And exciting. Yes, their job was dangerous, but there were perks: shooting, burning, and, on occasion, using heavy excavation equipment. In spite of humming with eagerness, Dean waited patiently for his brother to continue; he knew better than to rush Sam when he was in research mode.

“Look at this,” Sam said, whirling around his laptop so Dean could read the screen. “Three accidents on the Tacoma Narrows Bridge in the last six weeks.”

“Galloping Gertie?” Dean remembered the Youtube video of the bridge doing its best to resemble a wave. And succeeding beyond its builders' ugliest nightmares.

“No, that one’s at the bottom of the Sound,” Sam blanched a little. He remembered the video only too well. He’d watched it after his roommate had plied him with an entire sheet of jello shots. Sam had spent rest of Saturday night in the bathroom, swearing very loudly what he was going to do with Mark after he got sober.

Not surprisingly, nobody would room with him after that year.

Dean leaned forward and read the article. “Okay, that’s our definition of weird. So, a jumper each time?”

“Yeah, but they never find any bodies in the water, and there are always accidents afterward a sighting. The local police department is going to man the damn bridge round the clock if this keeps up.”

“Two dead, two hospitalized with serious injuries. All because they stopped to save a kid from taking a leap off the bridge.” Dean leaned back. “So, what do we have here? A ghost?”

“That’s just it: this is happening on the second bridge.”

“The new one?” Dean frowned and took another glance at the article. “But that thing went up without a problem, right? I mean no galloping gertie routine: just the usual ripping-off the taxpayers.”

“Yeah, which is weird,” Sam admitted. “Unless, of course, they built the bridge on top of something.”

"Like a body dump? That makes sense in a what-the-fuck kind of way.” Dean paused. “But who’d dump a body there? The place’s crawling with boaters, not to mention the Navy.”

Sam looked at Dean. “How do you know so much about the area?”

Dean shrugged. “I had a job in Tacoma, a legitimate one in case you’re wondering. There’s a park there – Point Defiance – that overlooks the bridge from the Tacoma side. I kept up my training there.”

Sam wanted to ask when this was, but he didn’t want to push Dean. His brother was revealing more of himself than he'd ever done before, so Sam knew he was lucky to even get that much out of Dean.

Dean put a twenty on the table and asked, "We're going?"

“Yeah, let me pull up some info first.” Sam quickly finished his pancakes while downloading all the intel he could get his hands on about the construction of the bridge. But, as preoccupied as he was, he couldn’t forget the little slice of life Dean had revealed. He wondered how to bring up the topic again without having Dean shut him out.

Sam knew, academically, that life didn’t stop when he’d left for Stanford. That Dean and their father kept on hunting, plowing out a life on a road littered with broken bodies and torn souls. How they did so without dying was a mystery to Sam. But, then, the two men were always a bit of a puzzle to him. Especially his brother.

The summer heat smothered Sam's face as they stepped out of the diner. He struggled to breathe as they did double-time march towards the Impala. Mercifully, Dean had checked the car's air conditioning unit before the heat wave rolled over Idaho, and it started up as soon as Dean cranked it to its highest setting.

Sam sneaked a glance at Dean as he focused on getting the Impala out of the busy parking lot without smashing into a minivan. Sam knew that in spite of all his posturing and tomcatting across the States, Dean was at heart a family man, maybe even more so than their father.

For a moment Sam allowed himself to daydream: Dean, married and with kids. In a small but neatly kept house. And he would visit on the weekends to help Dean put up an addition to the house as the kids got older. Sam idly included Cassie in his imaginings as Dean's wife. He knew that if Cassie didn’t kick Dean to the curb for telling the truth – odds were his brother would’ve settled down if and when she got pregnant with their first child. He knew Dean loved to hunt, but he also knew his brother would never endanger his child as their own father did.

“I was in a hospital.”

Dean’s statement broke Sam from his reverie. “Huh?”

“I got hurt, nothing bad but I had to go to the hospital to stop the bleeding,” Dean explained. “There was a guy in the ER with me. He went berserk on the nurse. And I don’t mean like a Boston Red Sox fan – more like a rabid animal.”

“What did you do?”

“Try to stop him from ripping out her throat with his teeth,” Dean answered. “Anyway, he bit me in the arm before security managed to take control. It took less than an hour for them to find out the guy was HIV positive.”

Sam felt his ears ring as he stared at Dean in horror. “What?”

“The motherfucker was HIV positive,” Dean repeated. “I decided it would be best if I stuck around, you know? Make sure I didn’t get infected.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sam hissed. “How long?”

“The standard six months. The nurse’s husband had a buddy who owned a garage. He gave me a job while I waited it out.”

“When was this?”

“You were a sophomore. Right around Christmas.”

Sam scrambled to remember if he had any calls from Dean.

“No, I didn’t call you, Dorkus,” Dean said with a small smile. “Didn’t want to worry you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I could ask the same thing, Sam.”

The warning was sharp enough reminder for Sam to calm down. After all, he didn’t make much of an effort to keep in contact with Dean either. And there were worse things out there than HIV, wasn’t there? Most of which he and Dean faced in the last few years, Sam admitted with a wry smile.

“Anyway, I was negative and that’s all.”

“So, how was living in Tacoma?” Sam asked.

“Okay, actually. The town’s got character, you know?” Dean’s face suddenly cracked into one of his rare, genuine smiles. “There’s this great place that serves what they call a real southern breakfast. And damn, they be right: best damn breakfast in the entire west coast.”

“You want to go back?”

Dean nodded eagerly. “I could eat there three meals a day, no problem.”

Sam blanched. He’d forgotten how much his brother loved comfort food, especially if it was floating in bacon grease.

“So, what do you think it is?”

Sam had to collect himself and think for a moment before answering. “Like you said, a ghost – maybe a male version of the Woman in White. But I’m hoping not, because if that’s the case…”

“It means we've got more than one problem,” Dean finished darkly, remembering their first case that nearly got Sam killed.

“And there’s something else,” Sam said in a heavy voice. “If there is a body at the bottom of the Sound, there isn’t a chance in hell we’re going to get to it.”

“We’re going to have to find another way to put it out of his misery, then.”

Sam noticed Dean’s words: before Sam went vampiric with demon blood, Dean would’ve said “destroy” or “kill”. But now, with Sam being what he was, Dean had become cautious with his descriptions.

Sam wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or depressed. Not surprisingly, he had become used to feeling both at the same time.

“I wonder…”

Sam looked at Dean. “About what?”

“The music, remember?”

Sam had never gotten used to Dean’s way of thinking. Or lack of coherent linear thinking. But that didn’t mean Dean was stupid or lacking. While he was methodical in the practical matters, when it came to shooting shit or guesswork, Dean went in the way of chaos, dragging his reluctant brother after him. However, Sam never complained because he enjoyed it when Dean actually let himself go. It was entertaining and there was also the fact that Dean allowed himself to be carefree.

“Music?” Dean repeated, annoyed now.

“Sorry, yeah.” It took a moment for Sam to remember what Dean was talking about. “They were all oldies, you know? Music from WWII days.”

“I guess that’s a clue. But I haven’t the foggiest idea what to do with it.”

Sam gave a grunt of agreement.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah, the jumper’s always the same: a young man, early twenties or late teens. Dressed neatly, from the reports I’ve managed to read so far.”

Dean tapped the wheel with his fingers. “You know what’s weird about this case?”

“What?”

“When we first sniff one out, we usually get a feel for it, you know? It’s bad, it’s really bad, or it’s shitty beyond telling of it, but this one’s just confusing. And that’s not due to bad research, just so you know.”

“That’s good to know,” Sam replied dryly. But he had to agree with Dean. This case was strange in that he couldn’t nail it either. And that, more than anything, worried him. The fact that they were going in blind forced Sam to be more cautious than usual. He wondered if Dean felt the same.

It took less than a moment for Sam to realize that Dean would hardly stop plowing ahead just because of a feeling. Not unless Sam was in mortal peril.

The younger Winchester huffed and slouched deeper into his seat. Not for the first time Sam wished he’d remember what happened after they killed Ruby. He could still see the pure white light, the feeling of horror and ecstasy as the Lightbringer rose free from its cage.

Then he woke up in a grimy hotel room, covered in gore and dirt. Dean was lying on the floor, in the same state. Neither of them were able to remember what happened in the deconsecrated nunnery. Bobby was unable to find anything in the following weeks, and the angels were of no help, either. None of them responded to Dean’s calls, and the demons had taken the same route. Sam managed to trap one after spending two frustrating months looking for clues. It took one look at the Winchesters before streaming out of its victim, headed straight back to hell, all on its own volition.

That unnerved both Dean and Sam enough so that they stopped digging.

“I can do some research on the music,” Sam finally grunted out.

“Oh, you’re still alive?” Dean deadpanned. “I thought you went to sleep.”

Sam grinned. Apocalypse, Lucifer, renegade angels – but leave it to Dean to continue being a wiseass in the face of it all.

“Seriously, the music has to be a clue of sorts. As esoteric as it is.”

“Whatever,” Dean glanced at the setting sun. “We’ll probably get to Tacoma around six in the morning. Get some sleep.”

“Dean,” Sam cautioned his brother. “You promised.”

“Okay,” Dean said reluctantly. “We'll switch at two.”

“Better,” Sam muttered as he made himself comfortable. Wrangling his right to drive the Impala was a battle hard fought but worth the struggle. “I’m going to set my watch, in case you forget.”

Sam heard Dean’s short sigh of exasperation and knew he was planning to do exactly that. Feeling smug, Sam forced himself to fall asleep. The nightmares that peppered his dreams were normal as his nightmares usually went. The worst ones where he’d imagined Dean in hell disappeared after Maryland, and now they were dotted with wendigos, ghosts, and the usual beasties that ate people but weren’t exactly capable of bringing down the Apocalypse when pissed.

* * *

  
Merciless sunlight woke Sam, making him unfurl himself cautiously. Feeling discombobulated he looked around to find they were parked in front of a Starbucks.

“What the hell?” Sam muttered, getting out of the Impala. He spotted Dean inside the coffee shop, waiting for his order while chatting up with a pretty coed who was looking at Dean like he was the Christmas present long-denied by her parents.

Sam marched into Starbucks, eyes narrowed and jaws hard.

“And this is my brother,” Dean said amiably. “Don’t mind him. He gets a little grumpy when he doesn’t have caffeine in his system.”

The girl turned to look at Sam and he could almost see her brain stutter when her eyes finally reached his murderous face.

“I thought I told you to wake me up when it was my turn to drive.”

“Hey, _you_ said your watch would do that. Do I look like an alarm clock to you?”

“No, you look like an ass,” Sam muttered.

“Like I said, don’t mind Sammy.” Dean gave an apologetic grin at the girl.

“Well, I hope you have fun here,” she said quickly. “Nice to meet you Sam.”

Sam watched her practically bolt out of the coffee shop and felt a pang of remorse. Then he looked at Dean’s smug face and felt annoyance again. But before he could say anything the barista behind the counter handed over a coffee holder jammed with two venti-sized cups and three bags filled with breakfast sandwiches.

Dean grabbed the order, gave a wink at the female barista who responded with a good natured eye-roll.

“C’mon,” Dean said. “Let’s eat.”

As usual, the two sat in the car while scarfing down their meals. Sam had to admit, the latte and the sausage sandwich went a long way to ease his bad mood. After finishing his meal, Sam looked at his wrist to find it bare.

“Dean,” Sam snapped. “Where’s my watch?”

Dean pulled it from his jacket pocket. “It was beeping but you didn’t wake up. So I had to turn it off.”

Sam blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Dean looked at him. “You aren’t a light sleeper, Sam. Don’t you remember how hard it was for me to wake you when you were a kid?”

“I changed a bit since then,” Sam said wryly.

“For a while, but the last few months you’ve been sleeping like a rock.”

“What about you?” Sam asked.

“Still the same ol', same ol',” Dean confessed. “I was always the light sleeper in the family. That’s why Dad made me take the outside bed.”

“I didn’t know that,” Sam confessed. “I thought it was because…”

“Dad wanted me to protect you?” Dean said. “That’s true, in part, but he also did it because King Kong could sit on your head and you would just keep on snoring.”

Sam remembered Dean struggling to wake him, but he had chalked it up to teenage years, some of which he spent in a haze of exhaustion or burning with anger and resentment against the implacable Winchester, and the life he was forced to live because of his father’s obsession.

“Man, how can anybody like this shit?” Dean said, grimacing. “It tastes like they scraped the bottom of a monkey barrel and made coffee out of that.”

Sam chuckled at Dean’s description and allowed his anger to dissipate.

“I remembered something,” Dean said. “There’s a swap meet on South Tacoma Way. It’s pretty cool, and you get to meet a lot of interesting folks.”

“You think there will be people there who knows what’s been happening?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, most of the people who show up for business are locals. We might come across a few who know something about what's been happening.”

“Sounds good. When does it start?”

“Around eleven,” Dean answered. “We have to buy tickets.”

Sam frowned. “What are we going to swap? We hardly have anything for people to browse over.”

Dean grinned from ear to ear. “I got an idea.”

Sam narrowed his eyes in warning. “What?”

Dean popped the collar to his leather jacket. “Don’t worry: I won’t rent you out by the hour.”

“Oh, thanks,” Sam said, blushing. “For a moment there I was wondering.”

Dean’s grin got bigger, which made Sam’s anxiety also increase in proportion, so by the time the Impala rolled into its assigned parking space at the crowded swap meet, Sam was half-determined to stay in the car.

“Get your ass in gear,” Dean said as he got out of the Impala.

Sam obeyed reluctantly. He looked around and soon forgot his concerns as his curiosity took over. The parking lot was jammed with shoppers and sellers. Most were Hispanic, though Sam couldn’t tell from which country, but they all had one thing in common: sharp eye towards a good bargain.

Sam looked at Dean again, and watched as his brother took out his bag of old tools from the trunk and spread them on the hood of the car. The response was immediate: people started to come, if only to look at the newcomers and their wares. Most took a glance and kept going but a few stayed.

Unsurprisingly, they were all women.

Sam sighed and leaned back on the Impala, trying to look smaller. His imposing physical presence made people wary. It was only when Sam began talking that people relaxed. Usually, because they were posing as authority figures, his size wasn’t an issue. But, in this arena, Sam instinctively knew it would cause problems.

Dean sat next to his tools, looking up at the sun. Sam had a disconcerted thought that Dean resembled a basking gecko he’d seen in Florida.

“What can you fix?” a woman asked as she approached them.

Sam looked at her and noted she was probably born during the Civil War.

“Pretty much anything, Miss,” Dean said amiably.

“Don’t use that honeyed tongue on me,” the woman responded with complete lack of sternness. “Seriously, what can you fix?”

“Whatever needs fixin',” Dean answered, looking at the woman with interest. “But my specialty is car engines.”

“Really?” she said, doubtful. “What kind of cars?”

“If it runs, I can fix it.” Dean tapped the Impala. “I built this baby from skin up.”

The woman’s gaze suddenly turned serious. “You fixed that thing?”

“No, I built it.” Dean hopped off the hood. “It got totaled by a sixteen-wheeler, but I couldn’t let it go. It belonged to my dad, you know?”

“Is he telling the truth?”

Sam suddenly realized she was speaking to him. “Yes, ma’am, he is.”

“Okay, then. I got a Buick Pontiac. It’s giving me troubles, but I can’t afford to pay what the mechanics are telling me. So, if you could do something about it maybe we could come to an agreement.”

“Why don’t I take a look first? Then we could talk about the price,” Dean said gently.

“Okay, it’s right over there.”

Dean looked at Sam who gave a nod of understanding. Without a word, the older Winchester followed the woman while Sam took his place. Now, he was able to use his imposing size, guarding the car and the tools until Dean came back. It took his brother less than ten minutes to return with the grandmother practically beaming at him.

“One of the arms needs replacing,” Dean said. “The mechanic told her it was going to cost her twelve hundred dollars.”

Sam couldn’t prevent himself from gaping. “What?”

“No shit,” Dean said. He turned to the woman and said, “Beth? Seriously, go to another mechanic. It shouldn’t cost you over eight hundred to have it replaced. I wish I could do it here but I don’t have the tools necessary to do something that big. And you really need a shop for something like that.”

“Well, at least you’re honest,” Beth said. She pulled out a twenty and gave it to Dean. “This is for your consulting fee.”

Dean pocketed the bill and smiled. “Thanks.”

“What are you boys doing here?”

Sam pulled up the most innocent smile in his arsenal and answered, “We’re here investigating, actually.”

“You’re not the police,” Beth said, her eyes darting between them with harder scrutiny.

“No, we’re writers,” Sam said. “We’re doing a book about urban legends and weird happenings in the States. And this area’s loaded with them.”

“Oh, yes,” Beth paused for a moment, “are you here about the suicides?”

Dean shook his head, “No, actually. We’re investigating the local legend about a water monster right off the Sound.”

“What suicides?” Sam asked, balancing his tone perfectly between innocent curiosity and boredom.

Beth’s eyes lighted as she thought she had perfect listeners to impart local gossip. “There’s been a rash of suicides on the bridge.”

“But there are always people who jump off bridges,” Dean said, picking up on Sam’s body language. “The one in San Francisco got a nasty history because of it.”

“But it’s not the same jumper,” Beth said conspiratorially.

“What?” Sam feigned shock.

“The same person? How’s that possible?” Dean asked, frowning.

“Because it’s a ghost,” Beth said. “And my niece who works in the police department tells me the station’s going crazy because it’s causing deaths.”

“How many?”

“Anybody who sees the damn thing dies.”

“Wait a minute,” Sam looked sharply at Dean. “There aren’t any survivors?”

“Well, initially yes,” Beth said. “Two, actually. One walked away only to keel over from a heart attack, and the other died in the hospital, after she was pronounced fit enough to moved from the ICU.”

“What kind of ghost does that?” Dean asked conversationally.

“Not Llrona, that’s for sure.”

“Woman in white?” Sam said. “What makes you say that?”

“So you know about that legend, eh?” Beth said. “Well, for one, she doesn’t go after women. Children? Yes. Unfaithful men? Maybe. But never women. Besides, there’s no male Llrona that I know of.”

“What do you think it is, then?” Sam asked.

“I’m not sure,” Beth said. “And I don’t think it’s a ghost of a suicide, either.”

“Why?”

Beth leaned forward and said, “‘Cause my niece, who works in the police department, has a boss who actually researched the history of both bridges. And as far as the police knows, there’s never been a jumper matching the description of the ghost.”

“Really?” Dean gave a glance towards Sam who looked as taken back as he was. This was the first time they’ve met up with a cop who was broad-minded enough to look into the paranormal as well as the normal.

“Yes, and Detective McTighe was sure there hadn’t been any jumpers like that.”

“What about people who’d died building the bridges?” Sam asked.

Beth shrugged. “That’s one theory, but whoever it is, it’s not happy. And it wants everyone to know it’s unhappy.”

“What do you think it will do?” Dean looked at Beth with a worried gaze.

“Keep fooling people into helping it, and then kill them.” Beth sighed and looked at South Tacoma Way where more cars poured out from and into the parking lot. “It preys by using the best of people: their desire to help someone in trouble. That makes whatever it is not only sad, but also evil.”

“Sounds about right,” Dean said. “Does anybody else feel the same?”

“Pretty much everyone I know,” Beth said. “But not everybody agrees on how to handle such an evil thing. My daughter thinks a priest can cleanse the bridge of it. My best friend believes its body has to be found and burned, or reburied with special rites.”

“I’m guessing the ghost is the topic of the day?” Sam asked.

“It’s the _only_ topic of the day, for everyone who lives around here,” Beth said. “It’s morbid curiosity at its worst, but better that than talking about how hard the Mariners are going to suck this season.”

Sam barked out a laugh. Even Dean chuckled at Beth’s summation of Seattle’s baseball team.

“So, you boys have enough for your book?” Beth asked.

“More than enough,” Sam said. “Thanks for talking to us.”

“Here,” Dean handed a scrap of paper to Beth. “This lists what’s wrong with the Buick and what needs replacing. And how much it should cost.”

“Thank you,” Beth said, pocketing the paper. “I hope you guys have a good day. You’ve come to the right place, you know. People around here love to gossip!”

Dean chuckled softly and waved farewell as Beth walked away, examining cheap t-shirts on sale. It didn’t take long for them to pick up yet another customer, and by the end of the day, Dean had earned a tidy sum of money. Though their credit cards were still good for few more weeks, Sam always preferred cash. There was something about having dollar bills in your hands that made the world just a little easier to deal with.

They also collected more tales about the bridges, and who or what was currently haunting them. As Beth had pointed out: people loved to talk, and the topic of the ghost was in the forefront of everyone’s mind. By the time they closed shop, Sam was keen on visiting the library to gather more information about the Tacoma Narrows Bridges.

Dean had other ideas. They drove down the street, and Dean pulled the Impala over at the first strip mall. Sam looked around: it was just as dreary as the one they had left behind in Idaho.

“What’s here?” Sam asked.

Dean pointed at a storefront. “Best damn Korean food in the entire city.”

Sam warily looked at Dean. “You eat Korean food?”

“Do you have any idea how much food you could get for ten bucks in a joint like that?”

“Do you even know what you’re eating?” Sam asked.

Dean’s lips tightened. “Just because I didn’t get into Stanford doesn’t mean I’m the village moron.”

Sam flinched. “I didn’t mean that…”

“Right,” Dean said, unwilling to make eye contact with his brother. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

Sam mentally kicked himself as he followed Dean through the front entrance. In spite of its grubby exterior, the restaurant itself was spotless, if also well-worn. The hostess didn’t bat an eye when she saw them, and gave them couple of well-worn menus before sitting them on a table in the corner.

Sam realized how hungry he was as he eagerly pored over the sticky pages. Everything looked good, and the prices were such that he could order two meals and not worry about his wallet.

“My treat,” Dean said. “I’m going to order one of their bbq dishes, along with their mixed rice bowl.”

“Sounds good,” Sam said, practically salivating as he imagined eating the tender slices of marinated beef.

Dean ordered for them. The food came out quickly enough and soon their table was sizzling as the grill in the center of the table was loaded with beef, onions, and garlic. Sam watched his brother scarf down the roasted garlic and mentally reminded himself to go to the bathroom in the morning _before_ Dean for the next few days.

Weirdly enough, the conversations stayed away from the hunt as Dean reminisced about his days as living as a civilian in Tacoma. Sam didn’t know what to make of it, but he was only to happy to let Dean prattle on. It was rare to hear his brother talk about something, anything, that wasn’t related to a case, and rarer still that Dean actually dominated the conversation.

As Sam listened, he realized Dean actually liked living in Tacoma, and that he had a good time pretending to be something else than a hunter. Sam wondered if given a chance, would Dean settle back here? Pick up a thread of life that he was forced to leave behind?

The thought left an achy Dean-sized hole in his psyche. Because Sam knew if Dean rebuilt his life here, Sam couldn’t stay.

How ironic was it that it was Sam who would be unable to have a normal life? His demon blood may be gone, but that didn’t mean his demon powers were, also. And Sam was terrified of the day that they would rear up their heads again, whispering into his brain of glories unimagined and untapped, of all the people he could save if only he’d take just _one more step_.

Sam looked at Dean and imagined a life without his older brother, but not because Dean was dead, but out of separation of wills. He shuddered a little. He would truly then be alone. Even Bobby, as good a man as he was, was wary around Sam nowadays. And he knew the word was out on the hunters about him. Sam Winchester wasn’t human; Sam Winchester was responsible for the fuck-up in Wyoming; Sam Winchester had to be responsible for what had happened in Maryland, where Lucifer almost broke free and unleashed himself onto humanity.

Sam wasn’t quite sure of the last one, but he knew all too well that demons talked. And if he had to guess they probably told every hunter possible what he’d done: how in his arrogance, fear, and denial, the youngest Winchester nearly ended the world. He looked at Dean again, and knew those same hunters would spare his brother. And Sam knew exactly why they would: Dean shone. Even in his most desperate moments, Dean had this brightness that came from his soul, which convinced even the hardest of people to give him a chance. The deputy in Hibbings was the perfect example. She knew Dean was dangerous - a felon wanted for multiple murders, and yet trusted Dean with her life.

He wondered if Deputy Hudak would’ve done the same for him. Sam doubted it.

“You okay there?”

Sam nodded, grateful for the genuine care in his brother’s voice. “Yeah, ate too much too fast.”

“So you’re not interested in getting some pastries and coffee next door?”

Sam gave a broad smile. “Never hurts to stock up for late night research.”

“Amen to that!”

Dean paid in cash and left a generous tip, earning a grateful smile from both the hostess and their waitress. They walked out of the restaurant, and entered the pastry shop which was actually right next door. Sam felt his saliva glands start up again and wondered when his appetite returned.

_The demon blood probably dampened it somewhat_ , Sam thought as he examined the various desserts on display. _And there’s the Apocalypse thing, too._

Dean plopped a twenty on the counter and ordered a grocery bag’s worth of pastries and other sweet treats, alongside two large coffees. Sam was glad to note these ones didn’t taste like they were scraped from the bottom of the monkey barrel. Dean seemed to agree as he let out a satisfied ‘ah’ after taking a large gulp.

Sam sat back on his seat and watched Dean drive. He wondered where Dean would lead them now. Maybe a Shinto monastery where they could bunk during their stay? The thought made his lips quirk.

“Here we are.” Dean pulled into an appropriately shitty motel. “They’re cheap, and they’ve got free wifi.”

Sam gave a non-committal grunt and wondered if the place had bedbug infestation problem. Probably, along with the rodent infestation: the two-legged kind from the looks of shady characters hanging around.

“I’ll check us in, Sleeping Beauty,” Dean said.

It was only then that Sam realized he was starting to nod off.

_I have got to get on the ball_ , Sam berated himself. _I can’t get careless now. Not when all of hell and heaven might be after us._

For a moment Sam dreamt what it would be like to have retained his power and defeated Lucifer, instead of being a ‘normal’ person. He could almost hear Dean’s harsh voice telling him to stop wishing for things that could drive a wedge between them, again. Or worse, kill them.

Sam was unloading their duffle bags when Dean returned, brandishing two keys. He tossed one to Sam. “We got free cable too.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“What can I say? I’m smooth.”

Sam managed not to roll his eyes at his brother’s antics. “I hope you got us a bug bomb along with the free cable, because this place looks like it needs it.”

Dean just unlocked the door and stepped in. Sam followed, and looked back to check the parking lot to make sure they didn’t have any interested observers. He then turned to face the room and abruptly stopped at the doorway in shock.

The furniture was old, but the room was spotless. It was as if Mr. Clean lived in the damn place.

“Huh?” he said to no one as he used his right foot to hook the door and close it behind him.

“I stayed here the last time,” Dean explained. “It’s family run, has been for generations.”

“Wow,” Sam said in awe as he swiped the dresser with his finger. There wasn’t a smudge of dust. “This is amazing.”

“The area got bad around here during the eighties, but McCord Air Base is just down the road, and families do visit, you know? Anyway, The Golden Eagle has a good reputation among the personnel because it’s cheap and clean.”

“And the free cable?” Sam asked.

“I told them we were ex-Marines,” Dean explained.

Sam rolled his eyes, but mostly in amusement. How could he deny his brother free porn? Ever since Maryland Dean’s pleasures had shrunk down to waking up, still alive. He practically treated everything after that as a bonus, and it pained Sam to witness it.

“The shower’s awesome by the way,” Dean said as he unlaced his boots.

Sam suddenly remembered all the garlic Dean had eaten during dinner. He rushed into the bathroom and took his time. By the time he came out Dean had fallen asleep, still wearing his boots. Sam spotted the demon-killing knife hidden tucked under the pillow and smiled. He took off Dean's boots before tucking in his brother.

Feeling refreshed, the younger Winchester decided to do some research before turning in.

The second Narrows Bridge wasn’t short on lore, especially since the spectacular downfall of the first one, but its history was uniformly dull. As beautiful as the bridge was, it didn’t inspire manic tendencies to those who used it on a routine basis. The same went for the third one.

Sam wondered why he didn’t feel more grateful for that.

After another two numbing hours of clicking through links, Sam gave up. Either the haunting was some completely new, or it was so thoroughly masked that none of the local papers or historians had an inkling.

Sam hid his glock under the pillow and went to sleep. Mercifully, his dreams featured a vampire with a fantastic flare for bad wardrobe, even worse than the shapeshifter from Canonsburg.

* * *

  
Dean woke first and found coffee stand a block away. It featured a busty beauty in a bikini who made one mean latte and offered Dean a free upgrade from medium to large on his regular coffee.

Dean wasn’t sure what he appreciated more: her luscious figure or the fact that she could respect his need for genuine coffee and none of the frou-frou shit that Sam preferred. Feeling much better after such a wonderful start to the morning, he drove back to Golden Eagle and found Sam still deeply asleep, snuffling into his pillow.

Dean knew Sam was puzzled as to why he was eating more and sleeping at all hours. Dean had no such questions: Sam’s body was detoxing and returning to its normal state. After months of using demon blood as its main form of sustenance, his body now craved normal meals, complete with high protein count. Sam also needed sleep because his body was repairing the damage the demon blood had wrought. Dean knew Ruby was telling the truth when she informed Sam that her blood had nothing to do with his powers, but it had to have triggered something within Sam’s tainted blood, thus making it easier for Sam to fall. And now that he was climbing back out of the pit, his body was busy trying to heal itself, thus needing huge quantities of food and hours of sleep.

It was a sweet sight for Dean to watch Sam rest. And not once did his brother show any sign of distress.

_Maybe God’s not too pissed_ , Dean thought as he powered up Sam’s laptop. _Maybe Zachariah and his buddies won’t come after us after all._

The thought of Zachariah and his ilk answering to God like six-year-olds facing particularly pissed off grandmother further aided Dean’s good mood. He surfed through regular paranormal news websites and blogs, idly watching for clues as to what’s been happening in Tacoma. Luckily, due to the fact that University of Washington had a satellite campus in the city, there was more than few comms busily discussing about the supposed ghost. Unfortunately, it was basically all bullshit since most discussions seemed to be fueled by too much caffeine and other addictive substances.

It was almost ten before Dean decided to wake his brother. He did it with his usual thoughtfulness: a well-placed slap on the tender part of the nape with a ear-throbbing holler of “Wake the fuck up, Sleeping Beauty!”

Sam sat up, tangled in the sheets and flailed before rolling off the narrow twin bed. It took him almost a minute to peel himself off from the shag carpeting. With a litany of imaginative curses, Sam went to the bathroom. A trail of steam followed him as he exited twenty minutes later.

The latte was still warm enough for Sam to make appreciative noises as he drank it.

“So, what are we going to do today?” Sam asked.

“Honestly, I thought I thought I'd get some info from the web about what’s going on, but I’ve got bupkus. I think it’s time we hit the library,” Dean answered, scrunching his face at the thought of spending hours in the stacks.

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam agreed but with more enthusiasm. “Do you want to try to get some intel from the police?”

“Hell no,” Dean said. “We can’t pull our usual stunt with the police around here. They’ve dealt with the FBI and Homeland on a regular basis because of the port.”

“Port?”

“Yeah, Tacoma has a busy port, not as big as the one in Seattle but it brings in international freighters on a regular basis.”

“And the bridge is probably under the auspices of the state, so we’re also talking about state troopers,” Sam added.

Dean gave a nod. It would be too risky to play a hand on any single well-networked law enforcement like the Tacoma Police Department. Add to that more law enforcement personnel, and they were bound to get caught.

“Maybe I can get the ME’s report,” Sam offered as he packed his laptop into his bag. “If the people were still in the hospital when they died, then the initial autopsies were done there. Something in the files might give us a clue.”

“Okay, then,” Dean said. “Rock ‘n roll.”

Getting the ME's reports were great deal easier than either of them expected. Sam was able to get copies of the hospital’s autopsies after downloading the file from an unmanned nurse’s station. He met up with his brother in the parking lot and the two made their way to the main library.

As expected, certain sections were abandoned so they were able to speak freely.

“Okay, so Mrs. Becker who was in the hospital and recovering died of … holy shit,” Dean said when he read the cause of death.

Sam couldn’t help smiling. “She died of holy shit? Man, that’s new, even for us.”

Dean passed the printout to Sam. “Just read, Dorkus.”

Sam did. “Okay, that’s definitely weird.”

“How in hell did her head get crushed?” Dean snatched back the file and took another look. “More to the point, who in their right mind could claim it was accidental? What? She got out of her bed, smashed her head somewhere in the basement until there was a hole in her skull, then crawled back into bed and died?”

“The second survivor – he did technically die of a heart attack, but he had a hole in the head too.”

“Um…”

“He was at the zoo with his grandkids when he keeled over.”

“Damn,” Dean said in awe. “Have you ever heard of anything like this?”

Sam shook his head. “No, curses are tied to something, a place, an object, or a person. It’s not transmutable like a flu.”

Dean suddenly had a flashback of the fear virus he’d caught in Rock Ridge. “Well…”

“I know, I remember Colorado too, but this is different. People don’t suddenly develop holes in their heads. It could be a curse, but there’s nothing that connects the victims, other than crossing the bridge.”

“And if that’s all it takes, Tacoma General is going to be an interesting place very soon,” Dean said.

“Okay, so let’s say the curse is tied to the bridge, because … well because we don’t have any other clue to go on.” Sam shook his head in frustration. “That means we have to go to the bridge, tonight.”

“Where we’re going to meet up with bunch of nutjobs, not to mention a horde of cops,” Dean said in a weary tone.

“We’ll just keep to our cover story about being writers.”

“Man, I’m bringing a thermos of coffee.” Dean paused and looked at Sam. “Wait a minute … where the hell am I going to park the car?”

Sam’s lips quirked into a half smile. They might just be facing a lethal situation in the dead of night, surrounded by hapless civilians and trigger-prone police, and Dean was concerned about the Impala. He was grateful that, no matter what, some things would never change.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam head to Washington to tackle a case where a ghost is blamed for multiple deaths. However, once they discover what the entity is, they realize they have no way of stopping the tortured soul from continuing its murderous rampage. Becoming more and more desperate as the body count rises, the Winchesters delve into forgotten family history to discover a murderous tragedy that has yet to see the end.

The bridge wasn’t as crowded as they feared. But that was probably because they came at two in the morning, when most of the gawkers went home after sobering up and realizing that standing on a windy bridge at ass o'clock was not a good way to spend the night. They did meet up with two state troopers but the men didn’t even bother to give them a glance. The two bored officers just stepped aside, letting them by with a slight nod. Sam and Dean gave wan smiles of gratitude and made their way to the area where the jumper was repeatedly seen.

Dean pulled out his EMF meter and checked, but it read nothing.

“Okay, this is complete bullshit,” Dean said as he scanned the area. “What the fuck? There’s nothing here.”

Sam barely managed to hold back his frustration from his voice. “But this is where the jumper shows up. So there has to be a connection somehow.”

“Dude, there’s nothing here,” Dean said. “C’mon, let’s walk down a ways. See if we catch anything.”

The walked the entire length of the bridge, but the needle of the EMF remained frustratingly silent. Sam looked down at the other end and saw the two troopers' attentions were now fixed on them. He nudged Dean and tipped his head as a warning. Dean tensed a little when he spotted the officers, but they had no problem making their way back to the Impala.

“This is really starting to piss me off,” Dean said as he got into the car.

Sam banged the door closed and slumped back into his seat. “Agreed but we can’t give up.”

Dean sat back and stared at the bridge, eyes narrowed in anger. “You know – it’s just a damn bridge.”

“What?” Sam asked.

“The thing’s a bridge, so maybe the haunting’s not about it but what’s underneath.”

“The Narrows? That’s a huge area, Dean.”

“Not really,” Dean turned to look at Sam. “He always jumps off at that point, so maybe whatever he’s haunting is right below.”

“Like you said earlier, a body dump,” Sam looked thoughtfully at his brother. “Okay, so we rent a boat and do some scouting?”

“Tomorrow night,” Dean said. “This freakzoid only comes out after sunset.”

“Do you even know how to navigate a boat?” Sam asked.

“Shouldn’t be hard.”

* * *

  
Not surprisingly, it was hard – for Dean. However, Sam had little problem learning the controls, and soon, the rented boat was motoring its way through the choppy waters.

Dean watched the sun go down, his eyes half mast and dreamy. “Damn, that’s pretty,” he said.

Sam took a glance. “I guess.”

“Aren’t you a romantic?” Dean asked.

Sam looked at the sunset again. “Okay, it’s pretty. Can we pay attention to the hunt now?”

Dean didn’t say anything. Instead, he leaned back as far as possible and lazily examined the waters. “What if it’s a water spirit or maybe even fair folk?”

Sam digested that and suddenly realized how small their boat really was. “You got iron?”

“Plenty to spare,” Dean said reassuringly.

“Still doesn’t make sense. Besides, it would stay in the water, or near,” Sam grumbled before pointing upwards to the bridge. “Wouldn’t try to pull a stunt way up there.”

“Remember Lake Manitoc?”

Sam sighed. “Yeah, I was thinking about that, but still – I don’t think they could haunt an entire bridge at night, and there is still the distance to consider.”

Dean dipped his fingers into the water. “Fuck, it’s freezing.”

Sam shook his head but didn’t say anything. Instead, he maneuvered the boat right under the section of the bridge where the jumper was seen. Dean sat up and pulled out his EMF meter.

The machine made a screaming noise of protest before coughing up wisps of black smoke.

“Okay, well, I guess that answers that question,” Dean said, blinking owlishly as he shook the EMF and listened to bits jiggle inside the once-was walkman.

Sam looked down at the water, as if he could spot a corpse floating below. Realizing how stupid he must look, Sam snapped his gaze upwards, studying the new bridge. Dean wordlessly handed over binoculars. Sam perused the structure thoroughly but found nothing out of ordinary.

“I guess we’re gonna be waiting,” Dean said.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed before passing over the thermos of coffee. “You do know how to piss from a boat, right?”

Dean’s answer was the middle finger.

The night came swiftly, and they passed the time by studying pleasure boats that sailed by, trying to guess how expensive they were and who owned them.

“Hey, I bet Bill Gates owns that one,” Dean said.

“Nah, too old-fashioned,” Sam countered. “He’d have something slick, you know? One of those huge computerized yachts that look like a submarine.”

“How about that one?” Dean pointed out a graceful two-masted boat that slowly passed in front of them, not even noticing their presence. It looked hauntingly beautiful in the darkness.

“Wow,” Sam said. “Looks like something out of _Great Gatsby_.”

Dean smiled. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?”

Sam pointed to another, more modern one and asked, “Who would own one like that?”

"Easy, Matt Hasselbeck."

The game successfully entertained them until the boats disappeared and the Narrows became a blanket of wet darkness.

Sam checked his watch. “It’s almost two.”

“Okay, time to rock-n-roll.” Dean opened his duffle and started taking out various weaponry. “Which one do you want?”

“Which one has iron?”

Dean handed over his Desert Eagle. Sam gave a grateful nod and tucked it in his jacket pocket. He was putting a protective charm around his wrist when he spotted a spectral glow on the bridge.

“Um, Dean?”

Sam’s tone made Dean look up. “Okay, that’s our bad boy.”

Sam cocked his head, trying to hear or see if there was any traffic on the bridge. Mercifully, there were none. Suddenly, tinny music came forth, making both men jump considerably in their seats.

“Where the hell is that coming from?” Sam hissed, looking around.

Dean patted himself then pulled out his walkman. It was playing the music, but it didn't sound at all cheerful. In fact, it sounded like the last whine of grief.

“What the hell?” Sam said, looking at his baffled brother.

_So kiss me once, kiss me twice. Then kiss me again. It’s been a long, long time._

The two looked at each other and simultaneously said, “ghost,” and then looked up to see the glow plunging towards them.

“Holy…” Dean never got to finish the sentence as the specter smashed into the water only few feet in front of their boat. It didn’t break the surface. Instead, it hovered over the water.

Sam could see it now: the descriptions were correct. It was a young man, younger than him, probably. The creature was dressed quite neatly, but the look on its face was one of anguish and impotent rage. It fell to its knees, slamming its fists onto the water. However, it was unable to penetrate the small waves that lapped peacefully around and under him.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean whispered. “What is it doing?”

“I have no idea.”

It stood up and looked at them, as if their whispers had caught its attention. Sam saw something stenciled on the ghost’s shirt pocket. He narrowed his eyes and was able to read the faint, glowing writing.

The creature slowly closed its eyes before dissipating into the encroaching fog.

“Ghost,” Dean said. “Okay then. It’s officially a haunting.”

“Why doesn’t that make me feel better?” Sam asked.

“‘Cause we’re fucked.” Dean sighed. “It’s obviously haunting the bridge because of its location. But, like you said earlier, this is pretty big fucking area. Not to mention goddamn deep. Submarines could go up and down here and nobody would be the wiser.”

“There’s something else,” Sam said. “Its shirt had some company logo on it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Catskill and Irving.”

“Worth looking into,” Dean said. “Better than scuba diving for the rest of our lives.”

Sam chuckled dryly. “Agreed.”

With that he powered the boat and started back to shore. They spent the rest of the night watching bad sitcoms, even worse porn on Skinmax. By five they had become so desperate that they resorted to Food Network. Not surprisingly, by five-thirty both were on the prowl for a good and filling breakfast.

After chowing down everything that Southern Kitchen could offer, they returned to the library. It took Sam only an hour to find what he was looking for. He printed out as much information as he thought prudent on the library printer, and then went to find his brother. It took him a while to locate Dean since he managed to ensconce himself in the children section.

It took all the control Sam had not to burst out laughing when he saw Dean sitting in the story corner, hunched over and completely mesmerized by the book in his hands.

“What are you reading?” Sam asked softly.

Dean looked up. “It’s the _Black Cauldron Series_.”

The title evoked a faint memory from the younger Winchester. “I remember you reading that. I was what? Eight? Nine?”

“Seven, actually,” Dean said. “Dad bought the entire series for my birthday. He got them in a garage sale. My first present since the fire.”

“Were they any good?”

“Dude, they're still awesome,” Dean whispered reverently.

“I got what we came for,” Sam said. “We should get going.”

He didn’t miss how reluctantly Dean left the collection. And the look of longing his brother bestowed on the books before shelving them. Sam couldn’t figure out why his memories of their childhood were so bleak, only rarely peppered with happiness, while Dean seemed to remember just the opposite.

_Just goes to show what kind of people we are_ , Sam thought a little sadly. He looked at Dean, sitting in the Impala, obvious enjoying the drive and Bad Company cheerfully going on about the awesomeness that was rock 'n roll. _Takes so little to make him happy. Why does it take so much for me?_

Sam forced himself to snap himself out of his moody thinking. It was dangerous to go down such roads. After Maryland, he’d found himself going over and over where and when he went wrong. And why he’d turned away from the one person who had been constantly faithful to him: Dean.

_Why did I ever think he was weak? It took thirty years of being tortured in Hell by one of its lieutenants for Dean to break. Did I really think I could have lasted that long? What did Ruby do to me? Why did I allow her to do to me?_

"So, Einstein, care to tell me where we're going?" Dean asked when they hit a red light.

Sam mentally winced and pulled out his cell. He plugged in the address and got the directions. "It's a small town called Nevin, just north of Gig Harbor." He handed his cell to Dean who only needed a glance to read the screen.

The drive was beautiful, and the bridges looked magnificent if also a little tight to drive on. They scouted Nevin as they drove down what Sam assumed was the main thoroughfare. It looked like one of those places that was both a tourist trap and a genuine seafaring town. He spotted masts over the tree line and mentally counted enough of them to justify two Starbucks in one avenue.

"Very chi-chi," Dean said as he watched a beautiful woman showing off her early summer tan. She gave him a once-over before dismissing him with a smirk.

"Yeah, it is," Sam agreed. He saw a small bookstore at the corner of a street and smiled. He remembered how many times he and Jess patronized such stores, always looking for a bargain or hard-to-find books. Sam suddenly realized it had been over a year since he'd thought about his murdered girlfriend. But the hollow ache that accompanied his memories of Jess were all too unfamiliar.

Sam nestled deeper into his seat. _Those weren't just good days. They were beautiful. I miss you, Jess._

A thump on his shoulder grabbed his attention.

“Hey, we’re here.”

Sam stared at the white two-storied house that was converted to a veterinary clinic. “Oh, good.”

“Sam, you alright in there?”

“Yeah, just thinking.”

“I need you with me one-hundred-percent. I can’t have your mind wandering off, okay?”

“Won’t be a problem.” Sam looked around. “So, what’s our cover story?”

“The same, writers,” Dean said as he pulled out a cigarette box from the glove compartment. “We tell them we found a link between them and the homicidal ghost and see what they're willing to cough up.”

“Um, we might piss them off if we did that.”

“Got any other bright ideas?” Dean asked.

“Maybe we could pose as … health inspectors?”

“They got a clean record, remember?” Dean said. “What could we possibly cite them for?”

“Swine flu?”

Dean paused before saying, “You’re a genius.”

The two got out of the car and took only few steps towards the house before coming to a complete stop. A young man came out of the building and stood on the front porch as a way of greeting. Tall, thin to the point of worrisome, his blond hair was long enough to be pulled back into a ponytail.

He was also a dead ringer for the ghost.

“Good morning, my name’s Joshua. What can I do you for?”

Sam scrambled to give a friendly-enough greeting that also sounded official. “I'm Sam Rodgers, this is my partner, Dean Kirke. We’re from Atlanta."

“Atlanta?” Joshua echoed in puzzlement. “I don’t get it.”

“We're from the CDC. We're here about the H1N1 Flu,” Sam clarified.

“Oh, damn,” Joshua said. “That sounds like a nightmare, but I still don’t see where I come in.”

“We’re on a case. It seems that a pig might have been infected by a person in a local farm,” Sam explained.

“Hell no,” Joshua grimaced. “Why don’t you come in. We could talk in my office.”

“Thanks,” Dean said, looking completely lost by Sam’s lead-in.

Sam gave a small shrug and urged Dean to follow him. Joshua led them to a small room in the back, stuffed with files, paperwork and two computers.

“So, what is this about?” Joshua said. “Because there aren’t that many farms on this side of the bridge that raises pigs. Not that I know of, at least.”

“No, it’s a case in Pierce County,” Sam said. “But we’re trying to track down everyone who had been exposed to the infected person.”

“Wait a minute, are you saying my sister was exposed?” Joshua paled dramatically.

"Your sister?" Dean echoed weakly.

"Yeah, she has her own business across the bridge," Joshua answered. "Oh my God, what about my mom?”

Sam was quickly beginning to realize using the Swine flu as a cover story was not the smartest of ideas.

“We’re not trying to panic anyone,” Dean said in a soothing tone. “We’re only following up on a case so…”

“But my mom’s in Tacoma General,” Joshua said hoarsely. “She had a stroke…”

“Then it stand to reason she’s receiving the best medical care possible,” Dean interrupted. “Probably better than my partner and I, so don’t worry.”

Joshua paused to digest that bit of information. “Okay, so … what is this about?”

“We were wondering if you have clients on the Tacoma side,” Sam said. “And if you do, do you keep records?”

“No, all my clients live on this side of the bridge,” Joshua said proudly. “My great-grandfather established the clinic back in the twenties with a partner. We did a lot of animal husbandry back then, but not anymore. We mostly take care of household pets, and horses. Of course, we still take care of livestock, but that part of the business is petering out because there aren’t that many farms around here anymore.”

“Is that your great-grandfather?” Dean asked, pointing to a picture featuring a young man who looked all too familiar to Sam.

“No, that’s my granddad, Montgomery Catskill,” Joshua explained.

“Handsome fella,” Dean said. “Did he fight in the war?”

“No, he broke a leg as a kid and it never healed right, so he was exempt. He’s mainly the reason why the business has been so successful despite the change in the client base.”

“I see,” Sam said. “So, did you or your family have any contact with a Mr. Steve Hoskins in the last two weeks?"

Dean flipped open his pad, trying to look official while studying the entire layout of the office. He mentally gauged that it would be very easy to break in during the night, unless there were guard dogs. Which wouldn't surprise him in the least.

"Let me check my records," Joshua said and began typing.

Sam mentally noted the keys that Joshua hit and spelled out the names of the files and passwords. He could probably remote access the hard drive later if the computer was left on.

"No," Joshua said in a relieved tone. "We never had a client by that name, and I don't remember my sister mentioning him either."

"So you're sure you never met him," Dean asked.

Joshua shook his head. "Pretty damn sure."

"I guess our work's done, then," Sam said. "I apologize for alarming you. I hope your mother recovers quickly."

"Thank you." Joshua stood up. "Let me escort you guys out. I have two dogs running around and they're still learning about personal boundaries."

Dean and Sam traded looks. It was Dean who brightened up with a wide grin and said, "Dogs? I love them. I have a small apartment so I can't have any. Can I see them?"

Joshua responded to Dean's enthusiasm with his own smile. "Sure." He gave a sharp whistle. Two large German Shepherds rounded the side of the house and charged up the front porch.

"This is Max," Joshua said, playfully wrestling the smaller of the two. "And that's Holly. She's the shy one."

Dean kneeled down and said, "Hey girl, can I get a kiss?"

Sam wanted to roll his eyes but only gave an amused huff when Holly did as Dean asked. His brother wrapped his arms around Holly's head and gave a thorough scratch between her ears.

"Are they rescue dogs?" Dean asked, grinning, as Holly enthusiastically nuzzled his chin.

"Yeah, I'm acclimating them to home life with decent people, and not the bastards they were rescued from," Joshua answered. He tapped Max on the head and said, "Say hello to our guests."

Max dutifully sniffed out Dean's extended hand and gave it few loving licks. He then turned to Sam, took a few curious steps before coming to a halt. A thin, distressing sound escaped from Max before he turned tail and leaped off the porch.

Dean paled considerably, but nowhere as much as Sam who was paralyzed by the dog's sudden display of fear.

"What the hell?" Joshua said in confusion as he watched Max disappear into a grove of trees.

Holly looked at Sam with wary eyes. She took a step forward, slowly extended her snout and began sniffing. She gave a loud, snarling bark before following her companion.

Joshua turned to Sam. "I'm sorry I don't know what just happened. They're still skittish I guess."

"Not a problem," Dean said quickly. "Sam was in a lab earlier, and handled a lot of chemicals. The dogs probably got a scent of that."

Sam gave a thin smile. "Probably. Thanks for your time."

They remained silent as the Impala pulled out of the driveway and made its way to the county road. Sam waited for the inevitable blow-up. He knew Dean was still harboring suspicions about his demon blood, even though Sam had repeatedly told him that his powers were gone after their confrontation with Lucifer. Or alleged confrontation since neither of them knew what had transpired that night.

_But that's not the truth_ , Sam grimly admitted to himself. _I can't be sure. I can never be sure if they're gone. That's why I'm so scared. That's why I always listen for the Impala after Dean takes off on errands. Afraid that he'll realize what a freak I still am and run. And not just a freak either but a dangerous, homicidal monster._

"Dude, I'm hungry. Let's eat."

Sam wasn't too surprised to find himself smiling at his brother's suggestion. Leave it to Dean to sensibly prioritize things in their lives.

Without warning, the Impala jerked to the right, sending Sam careening to the left in his seat.

"Jesus Christ!" he yelled. "What the hell, Dean?"

"See, you're not a demon."

Sam looked at Dean with disbelief. A snappy comeback was sizzling on the tip of his tongue but he was genuinely afraid that Dean will come back with something even more bizarre.

"What?" Dean asked, grinning as he parked the car. "You said Christ's name without flinching."

Sam wanted to sputter something, anything, but remained quiet as Dean got out of the car. He finally got out and slammed the door, quickly earning his brother's undivided attention. "You could've proved that without trying to kill both of us."

"Nope," Dean shot back. "Not a chance. I know your headspace, Sammy. And let me tell you, it's not only scary, it's pretty loopy. Once you get on that gerbil wheel of yours, it's almost impossible to pull you off of it."

"So you thought a near-death experience would cheer me up?"

"It worked, right?" Dean pointed at a diner that looked like it might have actually passed the health inspection codes. "Ooh, I bet they got good cheeseburgers."

Sam huffed a breath, shook his head in exasperation and followed Dean as he eagerly blazed a path from the Impala to the restaurant, looking like he hadn't eaten since Moses came down from the mountain.

Sam's tuna melt was actually more than decent. And the diner's strawberry lemonade wasn't a disappointment either. However, the sounds Dean made as he devoured his cheeseburger made Sam wish he'd ordered that instead.

Then he saw the bloody juice slowly leaking out of the meat, dyeing the side order of french fries into a rich brick color.

"Okay, that's just unsanitary," Sam said and pointed to the fries. "What? They just prodded the cow with matches and called it good?"

"Wanna know how much mercury tuna has?" Dean scowled through a mouthful. Then, just to spite Sam, he grabbed three french fries and stuffed it down his gullet.

Sam closed his eyes and pretty much finished his lunch that way. Unfortunately, his curiosity about the level of mercury in tuna didn't go away and Sam mentally filed away that question for later when he had a chance to sit down with his laptop.

* * *

  
"Are we going for a drop by tonight?" Dean asked as he cleaned his guns.

Sam gave a non-committal hum before returning to his laptop. It stood to reason that if he spooked the dogs, he might have even worse effect on other animals housed in the clinic.

"Maybe," he replied, his attention riveted to the laptop. Now that they knew who they were looking for he had an easy time pulling up information about Montgomery Catskill.

"The man was the only surviving son of Isaiah and Marie Catskill. From what I can see he was a boy scout," Sam said after reading through everything he had downloaded. "Paid his taxes, got married, had one son, Michael. The wife died of cancer two years after giving birth so he single-handedly raised their kid, who went on to have two children of his own."

"How about the partner - Irving, right?"

"The man died in the fifties. He caught pneumonia while visiting college buddies in Buffalo for Christmas and never recovered. Had no children, so the estate was divided between various charities. And Catskill didn't contest the will either. In fact, he made sure the money went where it was suppose to."

"No allegations whatsoever?" Dean asked. "Sounds a little Stepford, don't you think?"

"Yeah, but he had some issues with the law when he was young."

"Okay, here we go."

"No, not what you're thinking," Sam countered. "It was in the early forties, right after Pearl Harbor."

"Why do I suddenly feel like I'm going to say 'demons I get, people are just crazy'?"

"Just about," Sam's face was grim. "The Catskills had a Japanese American family as neighbors. Mr. and Mrs. James Inoue."

Dean sighed and put down the gun he was cleaning. "This is gonna be shitty. I can tell."

"They died in 1941, leaving behind a son - a kid named Thomas. Turns out the boy was best friends with Catskill's youngest. After Pearl Harbor, things got really bad for Thomas Inoue, and Montgomery Catskill did his best to protect his friend. Didn't do much good in the end - the kid was shipped off to one of the camps."

"Don't tell me he died there," Dean said.

"He didn't. He enlisted. Turns out Thomas was a cracker shot, and the Army needed snipers badly."

"But?" Dean hinted sadly.

"The kid died in Italy. His body was never found. But - here's the kicker - right before he left, Thomas sold his farm to his best friend for one hundred dollars."

"That can't be right!"

"He had to. It was the only way to protect the property from being seized, which was what was happening to all the properties belonging to Japanese Americans in this town, and the goddamn country. He must have figured with Montgomery owning the land and the house nobody could make a grab for it. So, when things calmed down later..."

"He'd buy it back from his best friend," Dean concluded. "But he never came back."

"No," Sam said. "Anyway, fast forward to year 1995, and the town started discussing about erecting a monument to all the Japanese Americans farmers who lived there before the war. Catskill made a big stink of it. Told the media how big a bastard the so-called patriots were back in the day. He even saved some of the papers that printed all the bullshit about Japs and so forth. And, not surprisingly, some of those town councilmen and respected elders who voted for the monument were related to the racist numbnuts, or they themselves were responsible for the mass exodus of their Japanese American neighbors."

"Wow, that took balls."

"Yeah, he even got into a fight with a retired sheriff who he claimed murdered his neighbors because they were probably 'slanty-eyed spies for those murderous Japs'."

"Demons I get..."

"People are crazy," Sam finished. "So, anyway, he died in 1999 of natural causes, in case you're wondering."

"Let me guess, he was cremated."

"How'd you know?"

"Because that would be just our luck with this case." Dean shook his head. "Man, things aren't what they seem around here."

"I know," Sam said. "I actually liked Nevin but it's all built on blood and betrayal."

"How does all that tie in with what's happening now?"

"His age - the ghost looks like Montgomery Catskill did during the war days. So, it stands to reason that something happened to him - something so ugly that his spirit can't let go."

"A murder, then?" Dean sat back, ignoring the laborious creaks of protest from the sofa.

"Have to wonder," Sam said. "what happened there during the forties; what he saw or witnessed that his spirit is committing suicide night after night, more than sixty years later."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam head to Washington to tackle a case where a ghost is blamed for multiple deaths. However, once they discover what the entity is, they realize they have no way of stopping the tortured soul from continuing its murderous rampage. Becoming more and more desperate as the body count rises, the Winchesters delve into forgotten family history to discover a murderous tragedy that has yet to see the end.

The last thing Sam wanted was to report complete failure, but after spending the entire morning combing and re-combing through various property and city tax records, he had to admit defeat. Sam trudged back to the motel, wondering what he could have overlooked.

_Nothing_ , he admitted to himself. _This was probably the most thorough research I’ve ever done, and there’s nothing I’ve missed. I’m sure of it._

Sam wondered how he’d convince Dean of that: his brother had unreasonable expectations of Sam's talents in research, and in moments like these Sam wanted nothing more than shove his laptop into a garbage disposal. He opened the motel door and found his brother hunched over his cell, humming tunelessly. Dean looked up and motioned for Sam to join him.

“I see,” Dean said. “You sure about that? Not that I’m doubting the records…”

Sam frowned, sitting down on a chair. Dean rolled his finger next to his ear, the universal gesture for the ‘endless conversation’.

“Okay, thanks.” Dean hung up. “Well, that was interesting.”

“What was that about?” Sam asked, genuinely curious.

“I contacted Veterans Affairs,” Dean explained. “I got to wondering why our gravity-obsessed Casper wasn’t drafted.”

“I thought he was crippled,” Sam said.

Dean shook his head. “No, that’s not always enough. There’s no automatic pass because you got a busted leg. They could still draft you, just that you might never see battle time.”

“Is that what happened?”

“No, Montgomery Catskill actually volunteered,” Dean said. “And was denied. Turns out his handicap wasn’t something that could be looked over.”

“Wait a minute, he wanted to go to war?” Sam shook his head. “He had to have known it would be dangerous for someone like him.”

“No shit,” Dean said. “But he tried to enlist, twice. Once right after Pearl Harbor, second time in September of 1943.”

“Brave or stupid,” Sam said. “Maybe a little of both.”

“Takes all kinds,” Dean agreed. “But they were pretty desperate those days. They would’ve taken him if they could.”

“You think that might have something to do with what’s happening now?”

Dean looked down at his notepad. “I don’t know, but I gotta tell you unless you found something that puts a whole different spin on this case…”

“Nothing,” Sam confessed with a sigh. “Nothing spectacular about the man’s life save for that outburst with the monument.”

“Dude lives quietly, never gets into any trouble, and then suddenly goes ballistic? Gotta wonder what triggered him.”

“You’re thinking it’s something more than just old anger simmering?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered. “I’m thinking it’s something else. I’m thinking it has something to do with his buddy.”

“The one that got shafted?” Sam asked. “Okay, I’ll buy that, but what happened to Inoue wasn’t so unusual, unfortunately.”

“Then something made it unusual, even for someone like Montgomery who lived through it. And who survived it.”

“Maybe we’re looking at the wrong person?” Sam offered. “Maybe we should be looking at Thomas Inoue instead.”

“I’m game,” Dean said. “So, how do we do that?”

“That’s going to be a lot more difficult,” Sam said with a deep sigh. “There might be records about his family while they lived in Nevin, but how he died? That's going to be near impossible to find out.”

“Look, maybe I can take a look-see at the Catskill place. See if they got anything.”

Sam couldn’t stop himself from tensing up. He knew Dean spotted his discomfort immediately, but Sam couldn’t tell him not to do it. It made sense for one of them to at least check out the place.

“Dude, I have to,” Dean said, his voice commanding yet apologetic.

“Yeah, okay.” Sam briskly rubbed his face. “Just that I like to know you have backup.”

“It’ll be easy,” Dean said. “So, tonight?”

“All right,” Sam said reluctantly. He honestly loathed the idea of Dean going in alone. But what really bothered him was the fact that he might now be a liability to his brother. It demeaned all he had done in the last few years; the struggles and the countless battles, only to have it all taken away because of something that wasn’t his fault.

Sam felt a small slap on the back of his neck. He looked up to see Dean smiling at him. And for a moment Sam felt like a boy again, the one blessed with a big brother who was more like a god than a boy.

“It’s a simple in-n-out,” Dean said in a comforting tone. “Don’t sweat it.”

“Okay,” Sam said hoarsely.

He took a deep breath and wiped his face, surprised to find it dry. They went to the town hall and managed to get maps of the Catskill property and made copies when the front-desk clerk went out for coffee. Upon returning to the hotel, they immediately pored over the maps and updated them with what they knew. Sam noticed an oblong shape to the northwest of the house. It was located next to federally-protected land.

“Has to be military,” Dean said.

“Probably,” Sam agreed.

“What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know – maybe private family burial ground?” Sam paused. “Oh wait.”

Dean turned to find Sam fiddling with his laptop. “What?”

“Gotta love Google,” Sam said with a big smile. He pulled up the satellite map of the Catskill property.

Dean looked at the screen. “Looks like a … garden?”

“No, a copse.” Sam peered closer. “And not like the rest of the trees in the area.”

“A grove,” Dean said. “Maybe an apple orchard?”

“I’m hoping not.” Sam grimaced. He had yet to see one since Indiana and not quell down the desire to light a match.

“Okay, one mystery at a time,” Dean said. “Let’s get this show started.”

Sam nodded in agreement and began methodically planning out the best way for Dean to break in. He may not be able to stand by his brother’s side, but he could make sure Dean had the best chance of getting in and out safe.

* * *

  
Dean gave the two dogs a final hug and whispered, “Tae care, Max, and be a good girl, Holly.”

They gave him a face full of licks before trotting off into the night. Dean loved dogs - even guard dogs. They, in turn, seemed to genuinely enjoy his company. The kitchen door wasn’t even locked so Dean had no problem getting in. The first thing he did was figure out where Joshua was sleeping. The man was upstairs, in the master bedroom above the kitchen.

Dean went back down and located the office. It didn’t take much for him to realize that the room only held information pertinent to the business. He then found another that passed as the library. Making sure Joshua was still asleep he rummaged through the room and found a shelf full of family albums. Dean cautiously flipped through them; the fifth was most telling.

There were dozens of photographs of the Catskill family along with their neighbors, the Inoues. They told a story of a happy group of people. Thomas looked like he was proud to call Montgomery his best friend, and the two boys, despite their age difference, were obviously close. Every picture had them with their arms carelessly slung around each other’s shoulders, holding numerous athletic trophies and hard-won prizes from local waters.

Dean put away the album and looked at an oversized bureau sitting against the left wall. It was obviously not used often as dust completely coated the top. He slid open the drawers and found boxes stashed in haphazardly. But he found one drawer half-empty.

Dean began mentally humming.

_Somebody took something_ , Dean concluded as he saw a dusty outline of a container the size of a man’s shoebox. _Recently_. He searched the room for the missing box but found nothing of similar size.

“Damn it,” he hissed softly. Feeling frustrated, he looked at the photographs on the walls. They were pictures of the Catskill family after the war. They newlyweds looked happy enough, but the photos were so few that Dean couldn’t be sure what the family dynamic was. He then remembered something.

The photos taken with the Inoue family were in the midst of flowering trees that presented a beautiful backdrop. These were taken in front of the house, nowhere as lovingly portrayed as the older ones.

Dean felt an idea flutter at the edge of his mind but couldn’t grasp it. Instead of forcing it, he let it fade. He knew whatever that brush of thought was, will return in due time. Dean took four pictures of the Inoues before leaving the house.

He found Sam sitting in the Impala. It still shocked him to see how big his little brother had gotten since their father's death.

“Dean!” Sam said, relief coloring his voice and face. “Jesus, you took forever!”

“That’s because I got bupkus,” Dean answered, slamming the car door shut. “Goddamn it.”

“So I’m guessing you didn’t find a smoking gun?”

“No,” Dean replied and gave the stack of pictures to Sam. “Just these.”

Sam clicked on his flashlight to study them. “The Inoues.”

“Yep, happy looking bunch,” Dean supplied. “At least until the shit hit the fan.” He pointed to the flowering trees. “What are those?”

“Sakura trees,” Sam answered promptly. “They have huge cultural significance for the Japanese and Japanese Americans.”

“Do you remember the cluster of trees you found on Google?”

“Yeah,” Sam paused for a moment. “You think they're the same?”

“The Inoues are tied to this somehow,” Dean said. “Maybe we can find something in the grove.”

“And this time I can keep you company,” Sam said, his tone tinged with satisfaction.

“Let’s get going. Dawn's in less than two hours.”

The walk didn’t take long and the grove wasn’t hard to spot. Dean was surprised to see how well-kept the trees were. They were pruned regularly and the ground was clear of most debris.

“Wow,” Dean whispered, looking around. Even in moonlight the trees were gorgeous to look at. “Damn, they’re beautiful.”

“This is wrong,” Sam said, pulling down a thin branch to sniff the flowers.

“How?”

“They flower during spring, early spring. Just when the season gets warm,” Sam explained as he rubbed few petals between his fingers. He wanted to make sure they were genuine.

“It’s August,” Dean said. “Maybe the weather has something to do with it?”

“If that’s the case, other trees should have the same problem,” Sam said. “But they’re not. Dean, it’s just this grove.”

Dean sighed. “Well, fuck it. I guess it’s just too much to ask for something to go right. ‘Cause as far as clues go? Flowering trees kinda suck.”

“Maybe, but we now know for sure the Inoues have something to do with what’s been happening around here.”

Dean cocked his head and sucked in his bottom lip. Sam knew his brother well enough to know that was his thoughtful look.

“Okay, maybe we can see from that angle since this one’s all played out.” Dean absently kicked a rock and shook his head. “You know how hard this is going to be?”

Sam nodded. “Finding out anything about what happened to the Inoues is going to be next to impossible. If this town’s got half a brain, they would’ve destroyed or deliberately misplaced any record of what they did to them.”

“Yeah…” Dean frowned, raising a cautionary finger.

Sam heard the footsteps then. The two silently hid in the darkness offered by the trees. Joshua came to view, wielding an axe and a chainsaw. The young man was shoeless and still in his pajamas. He looked around, wild-eyed and completely disoriented.

Muttering softly, Joshua started swinging at a tree. It wasn’t long before he started screaming on top of his lungs. “Die! Just fucking die already!”

Dean gaped in shock as the man hacked at the tree to no avail. Joshua swung harder, but the tree stood unmolested.

Sam tugged at his brother’s shirt before standing up. “Joshua, that won’t help you.”

The young man whirled around and swung the axe into the night air, howling like a tortured animal.

“Calm down, Joshua!” Dean commanded, sounding unnervingly like his father. “Put that axe down! Jesus, what do you think you’re gonna do?”

“Why … what are you two doing here?” Joshua asked, slowly lowering his arms.

“We’re here because of your grandfather,” Sam said in a gentle tone. “I’m guessing that’s why you’re here, too.”

“What do you know about him?” Joshua asked. Then his face smoothed from confusion to anger. “You fucks aren’t from the CDC!”

“No, we’re not,” Dean said. “You know what’s been happening on the bridge, don’t you? And who’s causing it.”

“I don’t have a fucking clue what you psychos are talking about,” Joshua said, backing out of the grove. “And if you don’t leave, I’m going to call the police!”

“Do that,” Dean said. “And you’ll end up dealing with Montgomery Catskill all by yourself.”

“How long have you been trying to trying to take down these trees?” Sam asked.

Joshua looked around, tears falling softly. “This was grandpa’s favorite place. He came here almost every day, even during winter, and took care of them. We came with him sometimes, but … not for long.”

“Why?” Sam asked.

“Because he … he just wasn’t the kind of person you'd want to spend a rainy day with.” Joshua sat on the ground. “He was pretty depressed most of the time. My mom thought it was because of his physical handicap. It got worse as he grew older, so by the end it was ugly.”

“But he came down here, though, every damn day,” Dean said. “Didn’t you think it was weird?”

“No,” Joshua said. “He’s been doing it his entire life. We never questioned why.”

Dean helped Joshua get to his feet. “Does your mother know? Did she ever ask?”

“No, never,” Joshua answered. “And I’d remember if she did. My sister and I were always curious.”

“When did this happen?” Sam asked. “The flowers, I mean.”

“About two months ago. They bloomed in mid-April, as usual. Then they bloomed again in June. We asked around but nobody had any answers.”

“How about your mother?” Dean asked.

“She had the stroke by then,” Joshua answered. “This all slipped my mind until…”

“The accidents started at the bridge?” Dean supplied.

“No, my grandfather started appearing in the house.” Joshua bit back a sob. “I thought I was going to drop dead from a heart attack when I first saw him. But I realized he wasn’t seeing me … and after a while, I started following him. He came back here, always. It took me a little while to figure out the ghost on the bridge was my grandfather.”

“You have no idea why he’s here,” Sam said.

“None,” Joshua said, “not a clue. I tried chopping these trees. Hell, I even tried burning them, but they won’t catch on fire. I used gasoline, even lighter fluid. Fuck, I'd use napalm if I could get my hands on some.

"I just don’t know what to do anymore. I can’t stand it.”

“Why don’t you move, then?” Dean asked.

Joshua shook his head. “Then my sister, Joanie, would ask and move in, and I can’t do that to her.”

“Look, maybe we can find something in your house.”

Joshua looked at them. “Who are you?”

“We heard about what's been happening on the bridge," Sam answered. "We go after things like your grandfather’s ghost. Put them to rest … to let them go of this life.”

Joshua’s bottom lip trembled as he asked, “How?”

“To find out what’s holding him here,” Sam answered. “Help him resolve it and move on. Joshua, whatever it is – it’s big, very big. And quite ugly. We think it has something to do with the Inoues.”

“Okay,” Joshua said. “I know something about them.”

“Why don’t we take it indoors,” Dean offered. “You look like you could use a break.”

Joshua nodded wordlessly and led them back to the house. He started making coffee and puttering around the small kitchen. Dean and Sam, by quiet agreement, took seats around the small dining table.

Looking at Joshua under the kitchen lights, Sam couldn't believe how he could've missed it the first time. From the way his shirt was hanging on him, Joshua had lost a lot of weight, quickly. And from his sunken cheeks, Sam guessed it was through stress and unchecked fear.

Joshua sat down, his face made more haggard by the pendant lamp. “The Inoues were good people. There was flooding right after they bought the neighboring property. They were fine because their house was on a hill. Ours wasn't. Anyway, they just showed up at the front door with shovels, offering to help.

"Grandpa told me they stayed for two days straight.”

“Sound like the best kind of neighbors,” Sam said gently.

“They were. When the parents died … my family took it very hard. They wanted to take in Thomas but he was old enough to live on his own. Poor kid, it wasn’t six months after his parents died that the war broke out.”

“And all hell broke loose,” Dean added.

“My granddad was livid and terrified,” Joshua said. “He and Tommy were best friends. Less than a week after Pearl Harbor, he found out that the town formed a ‘morality’ club. The first thing these so-called 'lambs of decency' did was to go around chopping down cherry trees, no matter where they were.”

“Even on private land?” Sam already knew the answer, but he wanted Joshua to keep talking; not taking any time to pause and think about what he was revealing to complete strangers.

“Didn’t matter. Thomas had bought cherry trees in memory of his parents and stored them in his greenhouse. My granddad helped him move them here and plant them. He figured nobody would come looking for cherry trees on his property.”

“Where were his parents?” Dean gave a puzzled glance at Sam.

“His birth mother around the time he was born. His father died of TB, and his stepmother couldn’t handle living out in the boonies so she moved back East. It was basically him and two hired help running the place. Back then you didn’t have to earn a degree in animal husbandry to run a clinic, even if the practice was focused on livestock.”

“What happened then?” Sam prodded.

“My grandfather tried to protect Thomas, but the government took him away only weeks after Pearl Harbor. My mother told me that he managed to sell his place to granddad right before, thinking he was going to buy it back when everything was over, but … he never came back.

“I don’t think my grandfather ever got over losing his buddy like that.” Joshua sighed into his mug. “He never made any more real friends after that. Acquaintances, yeah – he was nice enough guy, but someone like Thomas Inoue? Never.”

“So he took care of the trees for his buddy?” Dean frowned. “Man, that’s some devotion, there.”

“No, not really,” Joshua answered. “When they were just kids, my granddad nearly drowned. He managed to row out into choppy waters, in spite of being told by his father not to do it. And fell out of the boat; would’ve drowned if Thomas wasn’t nearby.”

“Inoue had to have been a strong swimmer,” Sam added.

“He was more than good. Their school won state championship two years in a row when Thomas made varsity.”

“So, your grandfather owed him his life but was unable to save his best friend,” Sam said. “That wouldn’t explain why his spirit keeps appearing on the bridge. Do you have any idea about that?”

Joshua shook his head. “None, my granddad hated the thing. He thought it was nothing but one gigantic eyesore. My sister and I had a running joke when the second one went up: that it was a good thing he died before it was done. Otherwise, he might just move out of state altogether to avoid them.”

“So he had no ties to the bridge that you know of?” Sam couldn’t let go of the idea. There had to be a reason Montgomery’s ghost was haunting the goddamn thing.

“None,” Joshua answered. “I’ve been ransacking my brain but I can’t remember a damn thing.”

Dean looked slightly shifty before he said, “I was wondering ... do you know anything about the bureau in the library?”

Joshua closed his eyes and sighed. “You broke in?”

“Yeah, I did,” Dean admitted cautiously. “The bottom drawer – there’s a box missing. Do you know where it might be?”

“Let me check,” Joshua said. He walked out of the kitchen.

Sam heard him rustle about but refrained from saying anything. His attention was riveted to the table and the matching chairs. He lightly traced the grain with his fingers, admiring the handiwork.

“Dude, what are you? An editor for Home Journal?” Dean teased mercilessly.

“No,” Sam flushed heatedly. “This table reminds me of something, but I can’t remember what.”

“Well, tuck in your inner girl,” Dean said.

“Dean, shut up,” Sam said wearily.

Dean gave a wicked grin that died the moment he heard Joshua’s footsteps.

The haggard man slumped into his seat. “It was one of those wooden boxes with some kind of mother-of-pearl inlay. I think it belonged to my mom,” he said. “I don’t remember much about it. The last time I saw it was years ago.”

“Do you know who could’ve taken it?”

“Either mom or Joanie.” Joshua paused for a moment. “No, that can’t be right.”

“What can’t be right?” Sam echoed.

“Joanie hadn’t been back here since Mom got sick,” Joshua explained. “At least not that I know of. And I don’t think she even knows about the bureau. I guess it had to be Mom.”

Dean leaned forward intently. “Is there any way we could go to her place and look for it?”

“Why do you think it’s so important?” Joshua asked.

“I’m not sure why,” Dean confessed, looking flummoxed by the question.

“To tell the truth, this case isn't run-of-the-mill for us,” Sam said. “We usually dig up history and put facts together from various sources before making our move.”

“But the history involved in this one,” Dean paused for a moment. “Well, it’s sticky, and I don’t think it's going to be easy for us to find the entire truth.”

“You’re talking about the Inoues,” Joshua said.

“Do you know of anyone who’ll talk to us about what happened back then?” Sam asked.

Joshua looked at Sam, his face alight with hope. “Yeah, actually I do. Mrs. Watanabe. She lived around here during that time. She was younger than granddad but just by few years. She lives in Gig Harbor now.”

“Thank Christ,” Dean said. “Got her phone number by chance?”

“Do you one better,” Joshua said. “I have her address. She sends us Christmas card every year.”

* * *

  
Sam smiled when he saw the small cottage, complete with white picket fence. However, the similarity to a fairytale ended there. There were no rose bushes or any other flowers, only a single miniature Japanese maple tree. But, somehow, it was enough.

Dean took a deep breath. “Man, she made pie.”

Sam looked at his brother. “What?”

“Cherry pie,” Dean said in a honeyed tone. “Damn, I’m gonna marry that woman.”

“I can’t believe you can smell food this far from the house.”

“Shut up and straighten out your hair. You look like an extra from a Mad Max movie.”

Without thinking Sam’s hands shot up towards his head. It wasn’t until Dean started snickering that Sam realized he’d been had.

“Fuck you,” Sam hissed.

Dean shook his head and wagged a cautionary finger as they stood in front of the door. Sam knocked softly. Dean took another, deeper sniff and made happy noises.

“Jesus,” Sam muttered and then plastered a smile on his face when the door opened.

A woman half his height peered up from behind a screen door.

“Can I help you boys?”

“Um, yes,” Sam said. “I'm Sam and this is my brother, Dean. We're friends of the Catskills?”

“Oh, yes, Josh told me you’d be dropping by.” She stepped aside. “Come in.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Watanabe,” Sam said as he followed her into the house.

“Please sit,” Mrs. Watanabe said. “And call me Claire.”

“Is that pie I’m smelling?” Dean asked, face shining hopefully like a seven-year-old on his birthday.

Claire peered over her glasses. Sam realized she might be old, but that didn’t mean she was in any way slow. Her face crinkled into a smile. “Yes, cherry. Would you like a slice?”

“Please,” Dean said, his voice ringing with unbridled joy.

Claire’s smile grew into a chuckle. “Two slices, maybe four since you children are still growing.”

With that smartass remark, Claire disappeared into the kitchen. Sam buried his face in his hands so he didn’t see Dean when he stood up. However, he did hear his brother stomping around the room.

“Wow, she was a babe,” Dean said, finally getting his brother to rise above his mortification.

Sam took the picture frame and looked at the single figure. The face had aged, but he immediately recognized the woman. Claire was beyond gorgeous; he thought she could easily be a candidate for beauty pageants. Wryly, he realized a woman with the last name like Watanabe there were only so many beauty contests she could have entered during her heydays.

Dean took back the frame and placed it back on the mantle. Claire came into the room, holding an overloaded tray. Sam immediately took it from her and set it down on the coffee table. Claire gave a grateful smile in return. After the first bite of the pie Sam had to admit he wholeheartedly supported Dean’s enthusiasm for the dessert. It was probably the best cherry pie he’d ever had. And from the noises Dean was making, he’d probably agree.

“So, how can I help?” Claire asked.

“We need to know everything about the Inoues,” Sam said.

Claire flinched. “I’m sorry, but I … don’t remember much about those days. They weren’t the happiest so I’m not exactly mourning about the loss.

“Why is this all coming up now?” Claire’s teacup trembled slightly as she brought it to her lips.

“Because whatever happened back then isn’t over. Not by a long shot,” Dean said.

Claire sat back and enfolded herself into the chair. She was small but now she was almost child-sized.

“You do know something, don’t you?” Dean asked.

Claire took off her glasses and gave a single nod. “It was so very ugly.”

“What happened, Claire?” Sam asked, using the softest voice in his arsenal.

“I was in the same grade as Thomas and we were friends. Because of the way the school district was set up, Montgomery was in a different building. So, Thomas and I spent a lot of time together. I had such a crush on Tommy. Most of the girls did, and I’m not just talking about the Japanese girls either.”

“We saw pictures of him,” Dean said. “He was a handsome kid.”

“But he was too shy to notice,” Claire said with a smile. “And he was too involved with sports and school to notice. Or at least that was what I thought.”

Claire finally looked up from her teacup and gave a fretful glance at her guests.

“Jesus,” Dean whispered, gaping at Claire. “How the fuck did we miss that?!”

Sam looked at his brother. “What?”

“Tommy and Montgomery were more than just friends, weren’t they?” Dean wasn’t really asking Claire, as much as he was looking for confirmation.

Claire nodded. “It had been going on for some time. I don’t know how long, but by the time Tommy was sixteen, he was long gone for Monty.”

Sam felt like an idiot. He was also completely thrown back by this new revelation as it put an entirely new spin on the investigation.

“Did anybody know?” Sam asked.

Claire nodded. “Only a handful. They were careful, so careful.”

“But not careful enough,” Dean supplied. “Who else knew?”

“Monty’s stepmother, Diane, found out by accident. Tommy told me she caught them making out. He was so scared but she didn’t say anything to anyone so he thought they were safe. And she lived most of the time back with her folks in Connecticut, so he wasn’t worried.” Claire finished her tea. “But he should’ve been.”

“She did something?” Dean asked.

“After the war broke out, she called a friend of hers … I don’t know exactly who, but she reported Tommy as a hostile.”

“Wait a minute – are you telling us Diane got him shipped off?” Sam was genuinely horrified by the idea that the woman would do such a thing to a kid who had saved her stepson’s life.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Claire said. “Tommy was taken away a lot earlier than the rest of us, by months. We couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t until after the war Monty found out. He wanted to kill her, I think. Diane had the good sense to stay away from here after that.”

“I’m guessing she’s not buried here,” Dean said.

Claire looked at Dean with genuine distaste. “Of course not. Why would you want to know such a thing?”

“Thought Montgomery might have forgiven her down the road,” Sam said quickly.

“Never,” Claire said with conviction. “He died hating her. He never once invited her over when he got married or had Michael. I don’t think he ever sent her a picture of his family. As far as he was concerned, Diane died the moment she betrayed Tommy.”

“Man,” Dean sighed as he sat back into the chair. “I’m guessing Montgomery never recovered from the loss.”

“No,” Claire admitted. “He was a good husband to Paula, and I never heard rumors of him tomcatting behind her back with men or women, so I think he just stopped … wanting after Tommy. And after Michael was born, he pretty much devoted his life to him and the veterinary practice.”

“You know about his protests?”

Claire gave a smile. “Oh yes. He made news, even in Gig Harbor. That was when I realized he was still in love with Tommy. Even after so many years.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Dean asked. “Anything at all?”

“Not really,” Claire said. “That’s all I know about the Inoues.”

“Thank you for talking to us,” Sam said as he stood up. “You answered a lot of questions.”

“I’m glad to help the Catskills. They are good people.”

Dean and Sam walked back to the car in thoughtful silence.

“Wow,” Dean said as they started to drive back to Tacoma. “Man, didn’t see that one coming.”

“Completely blindsided,” Sam agreed. “But that would answer why Montgomery Catskill can’t let go of this life. He’s probably blaming himself for what his stepmother had done to Tommy.”

“I can’t even begin to count all the ways that story sucks,” Dean said. “Why would she do such a thing?”

“Because she was a true believer, Dean,” Sam answered. “Because she honestly thought Tommy was a danger not only to her stepson but to the American way of life.”

“And a kid dies in Italy somewhere, trying to win back what she stole from him.” Dean slammed his hands against the steering wheel. “I know life isn’t fair but that’s just wrong.”

“Still doesn’t explain the bridge,” Sam said. “Him haunting the house and the grove? Makes perfect sense, but why does he keep appearing on the bridge?”

“I _knew_ you were going to say that.”

“We have to figure that part of the puzzle, Dean. We have no choice.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But until then?”

“We stake out the bridge, I guess.”

“That’s gonna suck extra hard,” Dean said. “It’s supposed to rain tonight.”

Sam groaned. _Of course_.

* * *

  
_This isn’t rain_ , Sam thought darkly. _It’s a fucking hurricane_.

They had no choice but to guard the bridge, which meant leaving the relative warmth and dryness of the Impala for torrential downpour. Even with hats, they were soaked to the skin in moments.

“Jesus Christ!” Dean hollered to be heard. “What the hell?”

“Dean, it’s almost four. The cops are gone and the ghost hasn’t shown up. I think…”

Dean shook his head mulishly. “No, we have to wait until sunrise. We have to be sure.”

“Dude!” Sam hollered in desperation. “We’re both gonna die of pneumonia if we stay put. C’mon! Let’s go back to the hotel, get some shut-eye before meeting up with Josh!”

Dean sighed. He looked at his younger brother soaked to the bone and violently shivering. “Okay, let’s go!”

Sam started running down the walkway towards the parking lot when a pair of headlights appeared in front of him. Then, just as suddenly, they disappeared. He slowed down, trying to see where the headlights went.

“Sam!” Dean screamed on top his lungs, running to catch up to his brother.

The same moment Sam heard his brother yell for him, he saw why the headlights were gone. The truck had completely flipped on its side and was quickly sliding the entire width of the bridge.

“Holy…” He didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence.

Dean grabbed him and yanked him aside. The two scrambled onto the railing and crawled up, using the cables.

They dangled from high enough to see the truck scraping by, leaving huge drag marks on the concrete.

Dean looked in awe and horror as the sixteen-wheeler slowly came to a standstill.

They climbed down quickly and ran to the truck.

Sam saw the driver flailing helplessly, entangled in his seatbelt. “You okay there?!”

“Get me the fuck out of here!” was the panicky reply.

Dean shattered the front window shield and crawled into the cab. He cut off the seatbelt and helped the frightened man get out of the truck.

“Jesus Christ,” the driver said as he patted down his body. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m alive.”

“What happened?” Dean asked then looked up as the storm suddenly let up.

The trucker wiped his face. “I was almost at the midpoint of the bridge when I saw this kid jump…”

Sam closed his eyes and sighed. “And you tried to stop.”

“Hell no,” the man said. “I heard about what’s been happening here so I hit the gas. And that’s when I flipped. It … it felt like something grabbed the truck and tossed it like it was some fucking toy!”

Sam traded knowing looks with Dean. After making sure the driver was fine, they contacted the police and left. The last thing they needed was to be interviewed by the local authorities.

After long, hot showers and fortifying themselves with breakfast, the two brothers returned to Joshua’s house. They found the man sitting on the front steps, sipping the largest mug of coffee Sam had ever seen.

“Hi,” Dean said.

“I just heard about what happened on the bridge,” Joshua said. “I’m guessing you two were the men who saved the driver?”

“Yeah,” Dean said as he sat down next to Joshua. “Not that we did anything. It was pretty much a done deal by the time we came along.”

“If what the driver said is true then ignoring my granddad’s spirit won’t help,” Joshua said.

“Something like that,” Sam agreed.

Joshua sighed and stood up. “I got extra keys to mom’s townhouse. We can go now. Maybe we can find something and get this over with before any more people die.”

Sam and Dean wordlessly stood up, both praying that Joshua was right and that they would stop Montgomery Catskill’s ghost from claiming any more lives.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam head to Washington to tackle a case where a ghost is blamed for multiple deaths. However, once they discover what the entity is, they realize they have no way of stopping the tortured soul from continuing its murderous rampage. Becoming more and more desperate as the body count rises, the Winchesters delve into forgotten family history to discover a murderous tragedy that has yet to see the end.

Once Joshua made up his mind, he was firm in his resolve. He led Dean and Sam to his mother’s townhouse, even helping them in the search for any clues about the Inoues. Dean immediately noticed how all the rooms were filled with memories, both happy and sad, but all very much loved, making him feel grubby since he was trashing the place.

“I’ve got nothing,” Sam said, coming out of the bedroom.

“Same here,” Dean concluded as he finished looking through the curio cabinets in the living room. “Joshua?”

“No luck, either,” Joshua answered as he came down the stairs. “I looked at the attic space, too.”

“Could she have given it away?” Sam asked. “Maybe hidden it?”

“If she did, the only place I could think of is back at the house.” Joshua paused for a moment. “I should call my sister. Joanie might know where the hell it is.”

“Do you think she’s around?”

“She closes her practice early on Tuesdays because she spends the afternoons with mom.”

“Let’s go talk to her before we lose daylight,” Dean said.

The three men stepped outside to be greeted by a red Subaru Forester pulling into the driveway. A woman who could only be Joshua’s sister stepped out of the car.

“Josh, hey.” She examined Dean and Sam. “Who are you buddies and what are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for something that’s been taken out of my house,” Joshua explained. “A box with mother of pearl inlay. Do you know where it is?”

Sam saw the woman pale considerably. “You know where it is, don’t you?”

“I have no idea what…”

“You stole it?” Joshua asked, genuine shock coloring his voice. “Why?”

“That’s none of your business, and it wasn’t yours to begin with,” Joanie snapped.

“Oh, really? And who decided that? You?” Joshua yelled, startling his sister. “Damn it, Joanie! I’ve been tearing through the house looking for it. Tell me where it is!”

“Why are you looking for it?! And who in hell are these men?!”

“They saved my life last night,” Joshua answered flatly.

“What happened?” Joanie asked, her anger completely overcome by worry.

“I just want the goddamn box, Joanie. Please.”

The sister looked down at her shoes and sighed. “It’s at the house. I buried it.”

“What?” Joshua looked completely poleaxed by the answer..

“Mom - she told me to bury it in the grove.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Dean hissed. “When?”

“About two months ago."

Joshua made a mental calculation then said, "That would be about two weeks before she had her stroke.”

“Right when the ghost started showing up,” Sam said.

“No wonder he’s so pissed,” Dean concluded.

“Who’s pissed?” Joanie asked.

“Look, we can talk later,” Joshua said. “Could we just go find the goddamn thing?”

“Okay, but we’re going to have a long talk after everything’s said and done,” Joanie demanded snappishly.

As soon as everyone was in the car, Dean hit the gas. They weren’t even out of the driveway before Sam heard Joshua explain to his sister what had been happening to him. At first Joanie was reluctant to take him seriously, but Joshua managed to convince her that something was terribly wrong at home.

Sam looked at his watch. It was nearing nine and the sun was setting. He knew they had to find the goddamn box before Catskill got revved up again.

Dean’s frown grew as the bridge loomed before him. “I’m starting to really hate that thing," he said then pulled down the visor as the last of the sunset blinded him. They were barely over the bridge when Sam roared:

“Stop the car!”

Dean’s response was immediate. He pulled over and looked at Sam who was scrambling out of the Impala. Dean’s gaze drifted back then spotted what grabbed his brother’s attention.

“Oh shit,” he said weakly before bolting out of his seat.

Both he and Sam sprinted towards the multi-car pileup on the new bridge. Dean spotted smoke and fire pouring out from at least two cars and ran faster.

They reached the wrecks and saw people crawling out of their cars. A girl was bravely getting back into an overturned minivan, pulling out a woman who must have been her mother because she was yelling "Stacie! Get away! Get away!" There were others helping the wounded, but because it was long after rush hour, there wasn’t much traffic. Dean dragged a man who made it halfway out of his Toyota but had collapsed. Sam was shepherding an entire family away from the flames so neither of them had a clue what was about to happen.

One of the suspension cables snapped without warning, and the only reason Dean and Sam survived was because they were crouched down. Two people weren’t so lucky. The tension in the cable turned it into a lethal weapon. It decapitated one man as it swung through a group of survivors. The torn end whipped around, acting like a club. It smashed into the skull of the girl who had freed her mother, killing her on impact.

The woman, now basically wearing her daughter's brain, screamed on top of her lungs. Dean grabbed her and yelled, “Get them off the bridge! Get off the goddamn bridge now!”

Sam grabbed two people who were injured, hoisting one onto his shoulder while dragging the other with his now-free hands. The rest were able to clear off the bridge without help.

The mother clung to Dean, sobbing and trembling so badly Dean could feel it down to his heels. He embraced her tightly and whispered, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Sam looked at them with pity then spotted Joshua’s sister standing in front of the Impala. She’d witnessed the two deaths and was visibly trying to not vomit. There would be no need to convince her any further of what was happening. She would cooperate, now.

They waited until the medics arrived then quietly slipped away. Sam knew they were losing valuable time, and from the level of violence he’d witnessed Catskill was far from done. And it wasn’t even ten yet.

“Convinced now?” Dean asked hoarsely.

Joshua’s sister flinched before giving a perceptible nod. “I … I can’t believe that’s granddad. He didn’t have a mean bone in his body.”

“The problem is that ghost isn’t your grandfather,” Sam explained. “It’s the worst part of him – like an echo that grows louder and louder, and it’s been left behind for a reason.”

“Do you know what’s in that box?” Dean asked.

“No, I swear I don’t. Mom told me that whatever was in it would destroy us. And she didn’t mean financially. She was scared, really scared about what was in that box.”

“How did she get it?” Sam looked at her.

“She never said, just that she wished she’d never seen its contents.”

“Okay, then whatever it is we dig it up, look through it and see what Catskill wants us to do.”

“Then will the killings stop?” Joshua asked.

“I hope so because I’m running fast out of ideas,” Dean admitted. “C’mon, sun’s down and the party’s just getting started.”

"Dean, the survivors..." Sam cautioned his brother.

Dean's lips narrowed as his eyes widened. _Jesus, even if they got out of that wreck, they've got time bombs attached to their hips if we don't stop Catskill._

If Dean sped a little faster than his passengers liked, nobody complained.

Because of the full moon the grove was easy to find. “Can you point out where it’s buried?” Sam asked Joanie after placing her and her brother on the outskirts to keep them safe.

Joanie pointed to the biggest tree and said, “Right there. I didn’t dig far. Maybe a foot, no more than two.”

Dean passed a shovel to Sam and they marched to the tree. They had to circle only once to find a soft spot.

“What are we going to do when we find it?” Dean asked.

“Burn it," Sam responded immediately.

“But that’s not what he wanted,” Dean said. “He wanted the truth to come out.”

“Dude, I don’t know about you but right now the truth is the last thing Catskill wants. He wants revenge.”

“Yahtzee!” Dean cried out and crouched down and pulled out the box from the hole. It was surprisingly heavy in his hands. He cautiously lifted the lid and looked. “Papers. Okay, let’s get this where we can get a better look.”

“Better hurry,” Sam said.

“Why?”

Sam pointed over Dean’s shoulder. Catskill’s ghost flickered into existence then immediately solidified.

“Shit!” Dean turned to Joanie and Joshua and shouted, “Run!”

The siblings needed no further encouragement. They bolted straight for the car with Sam and Dean following close behind, blasting off their shotguns the moment Catskill appeared.

“Get them in!” Dean shouted at Sam as the Impala came into view.

Sam shoved the two into the backseat even as he got off successive shots at Catskill. After emptying out his shotgun, Dean scrambled into the car and gunned the gas.

“Do you believe me now?” Joshua asked his sister.

The terrified woman gave a slight nod. Sam opened the box and pulled out a stack of photos. Dean took a glance then took a longer one.

“Okay, so definitely batting for the home team, then,” Dean said.

Sam looked at the photos of Thomas Inoue sleeping in bed, barely dressed if at all. The scene was beautiful if also erotic, and the photographer’s emotion was plain to see: the tenderness and care born out of both love and familiarity.

“It’s one thing to know he was in love with this kid, but to see it and know that he’d lost it the way he did: it must have been agony for Catskill," Sam said as he flipped through the aged photographs.

Dean, ever practical, asked, “What else?”

Sam took out a thick envelope and unfolded a letter spanning eleven pages. He quickly read through them. “Oh shit.”

“Oh shit as in we still have no fucking idea or as in…”

“Oh shit, we know what’s wrong but we’re still screwed.”

Dean spotted a diner and pulled over. “Okay, so hit me."

* * *

  
**May, 1945**

Nobody could ever accuse Montgomery Catskill of being a lazy bum. As soon as he had free time, the diligent friend would make his way to the grove to prune the trees or do something else that was necessary in order to keep the Sakura trees healthy and vibrant.

Montgomery studied his hands as they trembled violently. He had been pruning for only twenty minutes before the shakes made it impossible for him to hold the shears above his head. He didn’t know why, but as the day went on his grasp became less steady. Montgomery thought it was partially due to the fever that had crippled him as a child, but he wasn’t sure since his father never talked about what the 'fever' was.

Gritting his teeth, Montgomery grabbed the shears once more and tried to prune the lowest branches. Even though it was end of May, the Sakura trees were still in full bloom due to late spring which didn’t arrive until end of April.

Now feeling his arms tremble with the effort he’d already put in, Montgomery finally gave up trying. He would just have to get up earlier tomorrow to finish the job. The frustrated man turned to pack away his tools when he spotted a figure in uniform approach him.

“Tommy…” he whispered. “Oh my God, Tommy!”

The thin soldier stopped altogether and dropped the oversized green duffle to the ground. Montgomery rushed to him, shouting ‘Tommy’ on top of his lungs.

The two men embraced each other, Montgomery crying and blubbering while Tommy held on, strong and accepting.

After crying for what felt like hours Montgomery finally got himself under control. “When did you come home?” he asked while wiping his face.

“I was laid up in a hospital in Paris since January,” Tommy explained. “I got released a month ago. It took forever for the paperwork to get through. I’m not sure they’re even processed. The European offices aren’t really cooperating with each other or with the States for that matter.”

“If you want to you could stay with me” Monty offered eagerly. “But if you want to stay at your house, you can: I kept it just the way you left it.”

“About that…” Tommy took a deep breath. “I need some time to step back and think about all this. About what happened here and in Italy.”

“I completely understand,” Monty agreed. “We should take a long holiday and go to Hawaii like we planned before. I think sand and surf would do us so much good. Though I can’t participate in the surf part.”

“I don’t mean us. I meant just me," Tommy whispered.

Monty stiffened and pulled back. “What? You want to go on a vacation alone?”

“The war … everything changed, Monty. Everything.”

Monty grimaced and took a shuddering breath. “I understand. Mrs. Patkin’s son, Daniel, came back different. He went away for a while – to come back, I guess. Or at least that’s what she said.”

“I don’t know when I’ll be back, Monty,” Tommy said, his voice stony but his eyes wet. “I don’t know if I’ll be back.

“I want you to sell my place, and give me half of the proceeds. You can keep the rest.”

“What?” Monty's eyes widened as a rush of sound deafened him.

“I can’t come back here, Monty. This isn’t my home. Not anymore. I thought it was, but … no, it isn’t. What happened here? I can’t forgive that. Maybe not ever.”

Monty nodded slowly. “I can understand that. It’ll take me three months, four at most, before I can join you. If I’m going to sell my business I’ve got to do it right. So…”

“Monty, I don’t want you to join me. I want you to stay here. I came by … I came by to tell you good-bye, Monty.”

Monty burst out laughing and leaned into a tree. “I don't believe you! You don't mean that!”

“It’s over, Monty. I’m done with this town. With everything. With you.”

Monty tried to stand up but stumbled. Tommy grabbed him and gently guided him to his feet.

“Is there someone else?” Monty asked. “Did you meet someone while you were over there?”

Tommy nodded. “Yes, I did. He’s Japanese American like me and grew up in Hawaii. He has a farm there. We were in the same…”

Monty raised his hand, the one still holding the shears and swung it like an axe. Tommy’s head snapped back, blood jettisoning from his head. He crumbled to the ground, eyes closed, mouth slightly opened, giving him a look of innocent surprise.

Monty stared at the man who earned his heart then broke it. “This is your home. This … you’re staying here with me. Forever you said. And forever it’s going to be.”

He limped to his truck and took out a coil of rope. It was sturdy enough for what he had in mind. He wrapped it around Tommy’s thin frame. Monty then dumped the body into the truck’s bed and drove. Sun was already down, making it hard for him to navigate. But, after years of navigating through the dusty back roads, Monty was able to pull up to the public dock where his father’s boat was moored.

He guided the skiff to the middle of the dark, cold waters until he was sure he was at the deepest point. Then he turned off the Evenrude engine, listening as it died without protest. Even with his hands badly shaking, Monty was able to make a knot around his ankle, making sure the other end was still anchored around his dead lover.

Monty looked out at the darkening waters and said, “Who’s going to save me now?”

He pushed the body off the boat and closed his eyes. It wasn’t long before the rope’s drag yanked him out of the boat and into the freezing waves. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs but Monty didn’t fight. Not even as he was being dragged downwards. Suddenly, there was slack. Monty shuddered and opened his eyes. All he saw was darkness, and the cold assailed him so much that he struggled. Then, he slowly rose.

He surfaced and began screaming, not for help but out of anguish. He tried to dive back but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. A cascade of lights blinded him and a voice shouted out:

“Holy Jesus! There’s a guy there! Get him out!”

Strong hands grasp Monty and though he struggled mightily, the cold had sapped all his strength.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, we got you,” the stranger said.

“Christ on a stick, it’s Dr. Catskill,” another voice whispered. “He must’ve fallen in.”

“What in blue hell is he doing out here at the dead of night?”

“Don’t know, but we better get him to land before he freezes to death! Radio Mac and tell him we’ve got a live one coming!”

Monty looked at the black waters and began sobbing wordlessly.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam head to Washington to tackle a case where a ghost is blamed for multiple deaths. However, once they discover what the entity is, they realize they have no way of stopping the tortured soul from continuing its murderous rampage. Becoming more and more desperate as the body count rises, the Winchesters delve into forgotten family history to discover a murderous tragedy that has yet to see the end.

“Oh, man,” Dean whispered as he scanned the letter for the third time. “I sure as hell wasn't expecting that.”

“No wonder Mom didn’t want us to know,” Joshua said. “Our business, our property, they're now all mixed up with the Inoues'. There’s no way to make reparations without destroying our lives.”

“But what do we do?” Joanie asked. “Thomas was the last of the Inoues and his body is somewhere we can’t get at. So, what does grandfather want from us?”

“He’s cremated, right?” Dean asked.

“Yes, and his ashes scattered in the Pacific.”

“Okay, so there’s no way to reunite the two, and there’s no way to make this right unless it all comes out,” Sam thought out loud. "And we're not sure that's what your grandfather wanted.”

“I’m game,” Joshua said. “If that’s what it takes, then hell, I’ll do it.”

“Joshua – what happens to mom if you do that? Even if she recovers from her stroke, the scandal might just kill her. You have to remember granddad made a lot of enemies when he confronted the town council about the monument, so they'll have no problems ruining our name for revenge.”

The son deflated. He studied his hands, unable to meet his sister’s anguished gaze. Dean sighed and looked at Sam who was as torn and unsure as he was.

_What the hell do we do?_ Dean thought. _Destroy a family for a past wrong? But if we don’t people are going keep dying unless we man the bridge for the rest of our lives!_

He didn't have to ask Sam to know he was on the same train of thought. Dean stood up and said, “I’m going to make a call. There’s something I need to check out.”

Dean wasn’t too surprised when his brother joined him in the parking lot. Sam looked around to make sure they were out of earshot before asking, “What do you have in mind?”

“Something’s been bothering me,” Dean said. “How could Thomas Inoue disappear like that without a blip? If there was some guy in Hawaii then he should've come looking when his boyfriend never showed.”

“But those days there weren’t any nation-wide missing person database, and sad to say, the welfare of Japanese Americans weren’t exactly … top of the list for the local law enforcement.”

“Still, a decorated soldier just can’t go missing,” Dean argued thoughtfully. “Thomas Inoue wasn’t a nobody. He was loved … admired. He got two medals and had more than four commendations from his company. Men like that? They bond for life and if one of them goes missing, then for sure the rest will go looking for him.”

“What do you want to do?” Sam asked.

“Let me make some calls,” Dean answered. "And find out _why_ nobody came looking."

“Make it fast.”

* * *

  
**Venice, Oregon**

The neighborhood was brand new and there were more than few BMWs sitting in the driveways.

“Wow,” Dean whistled when he saw a Maserati drive through automatic gates before roaring away.

“Very upscale,” Sam agreed. He studied the manicured lawns and the three-storied Craftsman houses.

“Hey, someone’s home,” Dean said, pointing at a sprawling Cape Cod. “That’s it.”

An athletic young man was shooting hoop on the driveway, clearly enjoying himself in spite of the fact he missed most of his shots. He noticed their approach and walked towards them with a wide-open grin. “Can I help you?”

Sam flashed his FBI badge. “I’m looking for Thomas Inoue?”

“The FBI?” the young man said, eyes widening in alarm.

“It’s about an incident that took place in Nevin.”

“Sorry, name’s Jason. Thomas Inoue is my grandfather,” Jason said and shook their hands. “He’s out back, in the garden. When the weather’s nice you can always find him there.”

Sam managed to school his face into one of appreciation, not shock. _Dean was right. Jesus Christ!_

As soon as they reached the back of the house Jason hollered, “Grandpa! You got visitors!”

A short, elfish-like figure stood up slowly from behind a row of bushes. “Oh, who?”

Sam saw the similarities immediately. Even though sixty years had passed Thomas was startlingly youthful. Sam suspected the ex-soldier's athletic leanings didn’t fade away with age.

“We’re here about Montgomery Catskill,” Dean said gently.

Thomas turned to his grandson and murmured, "This is private."

"I'll be shooting," Jason said before disappearing.

Thomas waited until his grandson was completely out of sight before saying, “Monty died years ago."

“Yes, he did,” Sam replied. “We found out what happened in 1945, sir. Mr. Catskill told us.”

Thomas shook his head and pulled off his hat. “What? I don't understand. And I never filed charges. I let him go. I set him free.”

"Set him free?" Sam echoed in confusion.

Dean closed his eyes and shook his head. “Jesus Christ. There was no other guy, was there? You lied to protect him.”

The sunlight seemed to actually dim as Sam understood the sacrifice Thomas had made for his beloved.

“He thought we could make it, but I knew better,” Thomas said weakly. “I saw what was happening across the country, and even though I was a decorated war hero, I knew those signs saying ‘Japs Go Home’, ‘Japs Not Wanted Here’ were for me, too. Monty would’ve been crucified for our friendship, and I couldn’t stand by and watch Nevin destroy him.”

“What happened that night?” Dean asked.

“I woke as soon as the water hit me. The knot was so lose I got free quickly. Then I made it to shore without being noticed. I even managed to hitchhike to Port Orchard to get some medical help from a doctor I knew.” Thomas took a deep breath. “I stayed in Port Orchard for a week in case Monty got into trouble but he never did. That's not so surprising since I took a Greyhound to Tacoma and thumbed my way to Nevin. Nobody in town knew I came home.

“Afterwards, I went to Hawaii, got a job, got married to a nice girl, divorced the nice girl three years later because I couldn’t be that big a bastard. Naomi was a sweetheart and she deserved a better man than me. But we had two children and they were more than enough for me to make a life for myself.”

“Does your family know?” Sam asked.

“No, not a clue,” Thomas answered with a sad smile. “They look at me and see a dying old man, not the handsome young sapling I was. I think it would horrify them to see me as a sexual creature; much less a gay man.”

Sam couldn’t help but smile. “All children think that. It’s a coping mechanism.”

Thomas responded with a smile both bright and crafty. “And we should be grateful for that, as parents that is.” He examined Dean and Sam. “You’re not FBI, are you?”

“No, sir, we’re not,” Dean answered. “We tracked you down because we have a big problem: actually Joshua and Joanie Catskill do.”

“Monty’s grandchildren? What has happened?”

“Sir, we believe Monty’s ghost is creating the havoc on the Tacoma Narrows Bridge.”

“The accidents?” Thomas frowned. “I’ve read about some ghost being responsible but I didn’t believe it. Are you telling me it’s Monty?”

“Yes,” Sam said. “And he’s been haunting the Sakura grove, also.”

“Well, shit,” Thomas whispered.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Dean supplied. “Right about now most people would be running away while calling the cops.”

“I’ve seen things I can never talk about,” Thomas explained. “Hell, I’ve _done_ things I can never talk about.

“So Monty’s grandchildren are in danger?”

“Them and anybody who crosses the bridge. It’s a right mess over there,” Dean said. “And we need your help to put it right.”

“I see,” Thomas said. “Let me pack my overnight bag. I have to leave a note for my son so he doesn’t call the police. It shouldn’t take longer than fifteen minutes. I learned to pack lightly during my Army days and it never wore off.”

“Thank you,” Sam said earnestly. “We had completely run out of options by the time we got to you.”

“It’s not for you I’m doing this,” Thomas said bluntly. “It’s for Monty and his family.”

“Of course,” Dean said.

Thomas hobbled down the stony path and into the house. Dean and Sam marched to the front where Jason stood waiting for them.

“I heard you talk about Nevin,” Jason said. “Is he going back to that hellhole?”

“He has to,” Dean replied.

“Why?” Jason argued. “That place treated him like a rabid dog.”

“It’s for a friend of his,” Sam said.

“He doesn't have a friend there," Jason said hotly. "Grandpa doesn’t know but dad did some investigating about his past. It wasn’t long before he found out about what had happened to him in Nevin and the Catskill bitch who screwed him over.”

“He has the right to put things to rest,” Sam countered.

Jason tried to look annoyed but failed. Fear crept into his face. “I don't want him to go back. His health ... he's so fragile." Jason viciously bounced the ball against a garage door. "He's pretty amazing guy, you know? He has the gift of being grateful.”

“Grateful for what?” Dean asked.

“Just being grateful,” Jason answered. “Grateful to walk up and down the stairs at his age, grateful for being able to eat good food and have the presence of mind to appreciate it.

“I was embarrassed at first: thought it was the whole ‘Bowing Asian’ thing, but it isn’t. He really is grateful, and happy. I wish I had that.”

“That is a rare gift,” Sam agreed. “I wish I had it too.”

“I also know about Grandpa liking men,” Jason said. “He thinks we don’t pay attention because he’s old, but we’re not stupid. And it doesn’t matter to us. It never did.”

Thomas came out the front door, lugging a well-used army surplus backpack. Jason smiled. “That’s my grandpa. I swear: if given half the chance he’d enlist again.”

Dean smiled and Sam basked in it. It was rare but when Dean was genuinely happy his grin was both free and beautiful.

“I’m ready,” Thomas said. He turned to Jason and patted his shoulder. “I’ll be back soon. Can’t have your father pissing kittens because I took a day off without his permission.”

Jason cackled merrily before giving his granddad a hug. But Dean noticed that he watched with worry as Thomas walked away, and couldn’t help but feel just as concerned since neither he nor Sam knew how Catskill’s spirit was going to react to the fact that Thomas, the man he thought he’d murdered, was still alive.

* * *

  
**Under the Tacoma Narrows Bridge**

Thomas handed over a metal flask. “I thought we might need this.”

Dean gave a nod of gratitude before taking a sip. He passed it to Sam who also took a chug. Thomas tucked it back into his bag and looked out at the calm, black waters.

“It doesn’t look the same,” Thomas said after carefully examining his surroundings.

“Probably all the lights,” Dean explained. “Lot more houses on both shores.”

Thomas nodded. “That and the bridges. Damn, these things are ugly. Convenient? Yes, but a complete eyesore.

“What do you want me to do if Monty comes?”

“Tell him the truth. Let him find some peace.” Sam looked at Thomas with questioning eyes. “Can you do that? Forgive him?”

“I betrayed him first, Sam. You have to remember that. So, the question becomes can he forgive me?”

“No time to discuss that because here he comes!” Dean shouted, pointing at the green flare diving into the water.

“My God, it’s all true,” Thomas said.

Sam looked up at the bridge and saw flashlights trailing the spectral light. “Shit, we’ve got company. We're going to have to hurry.”

Catskill's ghost hovered above the water just like he’d done before. Thomas leaned forward and croaked, “Monty, it’s me!”

The ghost’s head snapped towards them.

“Monty,” Thomas whispered. “What did you do to yourself?”

The ghost floated so close that Thomas reached out, only to have his hands brush through the shimmering form. The inability to touch his lover finally broke Thomas. He sobbed out, “You have to stop all this. Jesus Christ…”

Castkill’s face shifted from one of confusion to joy. He even tried to take Thomas' hands into his but failed.

“You have to go home. You have to because I’m going to be right behind you. And I’ve been waiting for us to be together for so long … please, Monty.

“I’m so tired, love. So damn tired.” Even though he’d failed before, Tommy tried once more to hold the man he'd abandoned over sixty years ago.

This time Catskill responded, and though they still couldn’t touch their hands were hovering right next to each other.

Sam saw flashing lights of a police cruiser approaching their boat. “We really don’t have any time left.”

Thomas sat back on his boat and watched with tearful eyes as the glowing form began to flicker. “Good night. For now.”

“We’re so out of here,” Dean said as he turned on the outboard engine.

Sam placed comforting hands on Inoue's shoulders as the man wept without a sound. He looked at Dean and saw something he rarely witnessed: Dean’s eyes were wet with unshed tears as he watched the old soldier grieve for a sacrifice of years that brought about so much pain.

Dean guided the boat to a private dock they ‘loaned’ from its absent owner. Sam made sure the boat tied securely before helping Dean lift Thomas out of the equally 'loaned' boat.

“Let’s get out of here,” Dean said after he hustled Inoue into the backseat of the Impala. “The poor guy’s got enough on his plate. The last thing he needs is to deal with cops.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “Where to?”

“Back to Joshua’s place,” Dean answered. “Let’s see if everything’s settled down.”

Dean drove back to Nevin at breakneck speed. Sam would’ve said something but he knew why Dean was in a hurry. Even though they tried to convince Joshua to get out, he returned home because somewhere in the middle of his terror, he’d found rage. And bathing in the glorious shower of righteous anger, Joshua stormed back into his house and refused to leave. Dean and Sam were too strapped for time and had to leave him as sunset was fast approaching.

Joshua was waiting in the front steps along with his dogs who were acting more like lap cats starving for affection. “Is it over?” he asked.

“I hope so,” Dean answered.

Thomas looked up and physically recoiled as if attacked. Dean had forgotten how similar Joshua was to his grandfather in his looks.

“Joshua, this is Thomas Inoue,” Dean introduced the poor man.

“Oh shit,” Joshua stood up. “I’m sorry. I thought because what … Jesus, come in. Please.”

Joshua led them to the kitchen where the coffee was percolating. And - from the smell - pizza warming in the oven.

“Sit down,” Joshua said. “Let me get you some…”

Joanie came rushing in. “You’ve got to see this.”

“What?” Joshua asked, immediately turning pale at the expectation of more bad news.

“The grove,” Joanie explained, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s dying.”

Dean gave a nod to Sam, asking his brother to follow Joanie and Joshua while he stayed with Inoue. Sam needed no further encouragement, but he still had to run at his fastest pace to keep up with the Catskills. However, he came to a full stop when he saw the grove.

The trees weren't just dying: they were falling apart. Branches were snapping off even as he watched and some were actually crumbling as if they were being riddled by .50-caliber bullets.

“It’s over?” Joanie asked him as she watched the destruction.

“It’s over,” Sam answered. “Mr. Inoue got through to him. He made your grandfather remember.”

Joshua burst into tears. “He forgave granddad?”

“Yes, he did,” Sam said. “Forgave everything because he was still in love with your grandfather.”

Joanie embraced her brother with what little strength she had left. The two held each other up as their nightmare died around them. Sam decided to watch them instead because that was where the future lay. Not with the dying trees.

* * *

  
Dean was still munching on the homemade blueberry muffins as he merged the Impala onto SR16. Sam warily watched the various sixteen-wheelers dodge around their car and wondered why Dean would risk his baby in such a manner.

“I know what I’m doing,” Dean said, sensing his brother’s anxiety.

“I didn't say anything,” Sam shot back. He looked at Dean and added, “I was thinking.”

“Okay, want me to pull over?”

“No.” Sam had to say the next words carefully. “I think Tommy Inoue got it right.”

“Had what right?”

“To be grateful for what he had: to not look back,” Sam said. “Maybe he had the right idea, and we should do the same.”

The sunny smile on Dean's face was appreciably warped by his muffin-stuffed cheeks. “I was actually thinking the same thing.”

“We stopped the Apocalypse, got the Prince of Hell back into his cage,” Sam began rambling. “So, maybe, we should be grateful for that. We don’t need to remember because…”

“What are we expecting? A medal?” Dean jumped in. “We should be on our knees thanking God … or … somebody that we got out alive. And together.”

Sam nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, so, now what?”

“Dude, how about a case? It's about time we got back into the swing of things. Without angels or demons beating at our door.”

“Poltergeist or something more interesting?”

Dean grinned. “Only in our fucked up world do we have a menu of supernatural critters to kill.”

“There’s a talk about missing sailors off the coast of Oregon,” Sam offered. “I’m guessing siren or maybe even a púca.”

“Siren?” Dean looked positively hopeful.

“Sirens aren’t actually beautiful women, Dean,” Sam said, still grinning. “They’ve got claws and fangs and usually like to munch on the men they seduce.”

“But they’re topless.”

Sam had nothing to respond to that so he just leaned back and enjoyed the sun and the cool breeze that roared past him as Dean cranked up _Iron Maiden_ and pushed the Impala to her limit.

**The End**

  
**Author's Notes** :

This story took a while to finish but hey, I made it! Of course, at this juncture it's been kripke'd so hard it's AU.

The treatment of Japanese American soldiers after WWII has been a great source of tragedy for American history, and one that can never be corrected. However, their sacrifices have been recognized over the years and now the few who are still alive can proudly recollect their contributions to anyone willing to listen without fear of reprisals.

The title is based on a famous song made even more popular by Benny Goodman during the last days of WWII. [This](http://www.last.fm/music/Ella+Fitzgerald/_/It%27s+Only+a+Paper+Moon) version by Ella Fitzgerald is my personal favorite. And though the song is upbeat, I think the lyrics reflect Montgomery Catskill's mindset during the years he waited for Tommy to return to him.


End file.
